Zephyr winds, playing a symphony of love on my reddened cheeks.
Every strand of hair is a silk ribbon of fresh dancing in the breeze
This beautiful Countryside brings me to my knees, on this exceptional, wonderful month of September.
With the breeze in my hair and a saffron sun shining,
I sit in harmony with rhythmic songs of Autumn.
Feeling the need to act like an adventurous child, I stop on the roadside to climb an old wooden fence. The apple orchard tempts me to help myself,
so I do, biting into a juicy apple savoring it, for all its flavor.
I recall my grandmother well, in her small kitchen baking apple pies
as the scent of baked apple and brown sugar grazed my senses
I learned the meaning of, "Nature tells no lies"
It was a fruit explosion of Autumn delight, there to wet my appetite
A light wind carries me away once again, to grandfather`s apple orchard
where his smile was as bright as the coral reefs in fall
oh I tell you, those Autumns were fantastic, back when I was
only five feet tall.
THE IMAGERY HERE IS FANTASTIC! I COULDN'T HELP BUT FIND MYSELF CAUGHT-UP IN THE WONDEROUS MEMORIES OF YOUR YESTERDAY WHICH, CERTAINLY... LIFTED ME...TODAY. MARVELOUS SHARING, SO ENJOYED. LOVE, BLESSINGS AND FAITH...HIS+INSPIRATIONS
Well this poem sure elicited nostalgic responses, including mine now. Write what you know, and you did here with the sense of taste and smell and the autumn breeze in an orchard. My grandparents also had an apple ranch, and that’s how I know you write what you know, down to the smell of the apple pie. I usually don’t launch into a ‘me story,’ but I have to here because your poem brought people I loved back to life. And isn’t that the power of poetry? To offer such vivid language to readers powerful enough to make them cry or cackle or see Grandma in her zip-front house dress, aproned and working the clothesline and the oven from which is removed the bubbling brown sugar of the apple cobbler, Paul Harvey on the radio. Thank you ~~ djl
What a wonderful recollection. Nearly whet my desire for tasty apple.
I remember my grandfather taking out his worn thin from grinding sharp and expertly peeling an apple. With a careful eye to spot any wormhole and dig the worm out before eating.
And I remember my shock when I saw where Washington apples come from. Lining the high desert banks of the Snake River in eastern Washington. Not the lush orchards of New England, my native central Wisconsin or even West Virginia. But growing bountifully on volcanic soil like potatoes.
Love apples. Michele and I have an apple every morning with the elixir of life. Coffee. Indeed: "Nature tells no lies". As we're seeing now, natures vengeance is coming full circle. Thanks for sharing. r
The is something magical about an apple, an apple tree, an apple orchard, resurrecting childhood memories in this poem that ring strong and sure. Lovely.
Reviewed by JoAnne Cromp (Reader)
Reviewed on August 11, 2023
Beautiful and inspiring treasure!!!!
Thank you dearest precious Rose for sending this colorful edifying endearment to me. This is such prolific gifting and reminds me of more stable times of our beloved country when hubby and I visited his home state of New York where the profoundly red juicy gorgeous apple trees were swaying in the breeze upon the country side. I treasure these past times so carefree..
Hope all is beautiful in your day, friend ): D
Note: Since my husband's cancer surgery 4/25/05, this book content has been integrated into the public speaking content for audiences interested in a sassy approach to personal and/or community awareness events. Another chapbook on intimate love poet
These timeless quotations culled from the celebrated corpus of writings by W.E.B. Du Bois are presented with illuminating introductory essays by Aberjhani. Narration of the Audible book performed by Catherine Byers.
GLIMPSE OF AN ANGEL IS NOW AVAILABLE. A PORTION OF ALL SALES WILL GO TO HOSPICE TO THUS ENABLE THEM TO HELP OTHERS WHO ARE SOON TO PASS TO THE OTHER SIDE. NO LONGER AVAILABLE.
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Regis 🙏😎🌸🦋🐬
I remember my grandfather taking out his worn thin from grinding sharp and expertly peeling an apple. With a careful eye to spot any wormhole and dig the worm out before eating.
And I remember my shock when I saw where Washington apples come from. Lining the high desert banks of the Snake River in eastern Washington. Not the lush orchards of New England, my native central Wisconsin or even West Virginia. But growing bountifully on volcanic soil like potatoes.
Ron
Thank you dearest precious Rose for sending this colorful edifying endearment to me. This is such prolific gifting and reminds me of more stable times of our beloved country when hubby and I visited his home state of New York where the profoundly red juicy gorgeous apple trees were swaying in the breeze upon the country side. I treasure these past times so carefree..
Hope all is beautiful in your day, friend ): D