By the the river's edge...

Daily, Hubby and I
scour old maps for a
a new trail we've heard of,
or one not trod recently
where dream
landscapes can reset our clocks
for an hour or so, allowing us to
forget achy backs and sore knees
as though we left them asleep in bed, where rain
wind and
pesky news interrupt  our rest so often.


Hope-blown-scarlet leaves
swirl around a wild apple tree
with no known name
as the impeding rain
hurries us on. I take a bite, and fail to recognize the taste.

At the grocery store, before driving home, we look at Fuji apples
all smart and perfectly arranged
(how the wild apples
sprayed  my gums with alacrity,
daring me to like them, to find them again...)
we gather four perfect Fuji
for  our return
to the warm home
and  measured life of polished fruit
and porcelain smiles.