Apple Tree

Like in a storybook
I lose myself,
and find an apple tree
on a meadow-shore.

Up top, I pluck an apple.
Below, grass sways with shadows
of wind-dancing apple branches
tapping a gray-worn trellis.

A far off farmhouse sets out west,
and I climb to meet the hills,
an apple core
draped in dappled dusk.

A poem, in poems. Seasonal.

Made . Brought in .

clear · 21° · SE 5 kt · only the sun and moon and stars