The Orchard

Photo by Julian Kirschner from Pexels

The cinnamon hits me,

Sharp, bitter, but also

Sweet, like the richness of dark earth.

Suddenly it’s Fall again.

Mother has taken us apple-picking,

The cold masking the ferment

Of dropped fruit under our boots.

A strange warmth left that orchard with me;

Sad, aching, but also

Wondrous, like the rhythm of new breath.