Uncategorized

Holding on to Summer

And still we harvest.
Even as we yank the last plants from the cold ground;
They hold on to the dirt for dear life
Balls of dark earth clutched in their roots
Still bearing cayenne peppers
of green, cherry red, fireball orange.
I sit in the damp dirt, marveling at the colors.
Some have skins that shine like waxed diamonds,
Others are scarred and dulled with striations of brown,
hash marks left by a hard frost.
How I wish for the summer to stay, for the sun to leave her bronze kiss
on my weary shoulders. The fiery autumn trees can’t seduce me.
Summer is my true love.
I will keep these brilliant cayennes, even the scarred ones.
And make a pepper jelly for those unforgivingly cold winter days
I will spread it over my morning toast and stare out a frost laced window,
dreaming of those lazy days past, the taste of summer dancing on my tongue.

Fall, poetry, Summer, Uncategorized, Writing

Fallen Apples

Trees sigh and shed tears of yellow leaves onto the breeze. 

Sad, for the passing of summer.

The leaves having soaked the lemony summer sunshine up

Into their veins, yet in vain

For the sun is not eternal, and none of us are immune from dying. 

Except, perhaps, the thousands year old boulder excavated a hundred years ago, where I sit, holding an apple up to my nose, eyes closed. (You can’t really smell an apple unless your eyes are closed) Cinnamon, clove, citrus and the earthy scent of raw honey. 

Red jewels with shiny skins the apples lie in the golden and green grass like treasures. Prepared for sweetness, I bite the smooth hard skin and it bursts beneath my teeth with a snap and a flood of tartness breaks the spell the scents have put me under. 

Autumn has crept up as usual, to spring in front of us and wave her red-gold-orange-flag to dazzle by day and enchant by night with a crisp diamond studded sky, as if winter is not far behind. 

I can’t stop the seasons.

But I can still take the broken apple to the barn and share it with my friends, the horse, and the donkey, and we can still bathe in the warm honey sunshine. 

See the dust rise up from the hay bales and dance in that last fools gold light of summer.