Almost Apple Season

Apple season's getting started, I say to myself.

Nodding June fruitlets supplant May's shroud of blossoms,

Now that every white wing has slipped from the trees.

I rarely visit the old orchard this time of day,

Vertical shafts of light pillaring the in-between spaces,

Every low shadow gathered in, crisply dark and waiting to grow.

Reaching up, I touch a swelling nub, an apple-to-be in the fullness of time.

Suddenly my hand stops. Time slips. An almost apple.

Almost twelve years ago -- your last day before hospice -- we came here,

Rambling hand in hand, you wrapped round in your dusky shawl.

You pointed to a dark, hard nub and said, Enjoy this one in the fall, for me.

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A/N - I am indebted to this marvelous photo journal of the lifecycle of an apple, which I returned to many times during the writing of this piece, both for science and for inspiration. And I learned that the proper name for a nascent apple is "fruitlet," which seems sweetly fitting.

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Thank you for reading my acrostic for Real Poetic's ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY CHALLENGE -- give it a try!

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