September Metamorphoses

September Reading: Garlic & Arts Festival, Orange MA.  Noon on Saturday  09/24/ at the Poetry stage.

September contains a diversity of sensations, from cold nights that sweep into hot days, to  scarlet leaves splashing the sky. I dive into Laurel Lake for the last swims of the season. Insects cling to flowered tips of mint and goldenrod, and they look much chubbier than they did in June.  We’ve shared a good season. Despite the drought,  the apple tee holds apples, albeit  smaller than hoped for.  Grapes are fewer, but will make some fabulous mahlez soon (Armenian cooking). I’ve already dried mint, lemon balm, and thyme.  Calendula, st. johnswort,  and elderberry soak in tall canning jars to give up their qualities to alcohol. September is made more sweet because I can still walk barefoot on the warm ground, whilst I ready for winter.This poem is one of my favorites. It’s like an old  movie in my mind.

The Apple Barn

He lived alone by the old apple barn
after being released from confinement
he was happy except
in the extreme heat
of the early autumn days

when the bees would hoard all of the honey
and dive into the barrels of warm cider he made
like aero-stuntmen from the old days

he’d cuss and leave them to it
the bees would fall drunk around him
on the sweetness of the cider

he lived alone by the old apple barn
gathering apples where they fell
watching the stars on summer nights

steering his dreams by moonlight
after moving to the Ashfield hills
he was happy except
in the extreme heat
of the early autumn days

when memories bobbed up and dived
so many leftover dreams
when he lived alone by the old apple barn

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About elainereardon

Poet, writer, gardener, herbalist, beginner artist- pottery, painting—communing with Spirits of the Forest and Field, bumping into magic, peeking around new corners.
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