fun

Bobbing for Apples

As we bob apples that are dappled like they’ve grappled with the cold, Peering under, we seek plunder, bits of yellow apple gold People dipping heads in, dripping, snag their tokens of the fall. Latching onto catching one, two, twigs then rise with apples twain Each rise, grinning, fresh with winning, this beginning of delights. […]

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Invisible

I wonder sometimes after wind blows through the trees,  racing with the leaves,  playing with the branches.    I wonder—did the trees  know the wind was there?   Did the wind know she was not seen?                                       […]

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