Driving in the dewy air

the biting tang from just beyond

the thinning vale (thinner in the mountain mist)

that separates our world from bliss.

Beethoven on the speakers;

themes again, again and then,

ONE MORE TIME again.

–

Climbing up in apple tree

to bite the skin-sweet juice

and throwing (wasteful) high into the trees.

Spreading the quilted picnic blanket

on the grassy knob.

Sandwiches (with extra ham).

–

Sampling fresh made citer,

more crisp more live than jice

and zesty wild.

Apple sugar donuts as we

carry apple conquests

to the car.

–

Wind drive home,

the end of what I so looked forward to

so good, so quickly gone.

The sun sinks low,

as coldish apple air

sends a haunting longing

home with us.