Haiga

Autumn Ritual

It's apple picking time. On a weekday morning we drive north, passing through quiet small towns. Kids are in school, and their parents at work. Ours is the only car on the road. Between the towns are woods and fields, not yet sold to a developer.

following our noses
to the apple orchard–
fresh cider at the mill

We take a half-bushel basket at the stand and trek up a hill picking and tasting as we go.

the bargain apples
hiding on the ground
under poison ivy

On top of the hill, a picnic.

after lunch,
watching the yellow jackets
lazy in the sun
Stylus Poetry Journal, November 2002

Haiga