Apple Time

The road winds along the river
its ramshackle twists and hills
beloved of sports car drivers
just beyond the tightest curve
is where Orchard Road dips
down to the water for a drink.

Up that steep hill we drive
each autumn for apples.
As all the leaves redden
so do the ripening fruit
and the air fresh sweet
and sun-spicy tempting cool

The inside of my head
hears the crisp crunch
as the sweet ripe fruit
invades my mouth and nose
and we admire pale Adirondacks
across the broad river valley.


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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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