Content she sits with the apple.
No radio, no technology,
No book, no camera.
Just the solitary pleasure
of the apple.
Thankful she still has her own teeth
Her lips pucker in delight of the first sour bite.
How many wonderful stories about apples had she heard?
How many trees grew from just one apple seed?
How many folks would relate to the
simple pleasure of eating an apple
in the dead of winter?
It would not matter…
she was blessed with pleasures of the apple.
Her spirit danced with joy.
It doesn’t happen often
But I could see it coming.
I had been fasting and creative.
My heart was humming.
I needed to change the pace.
I needed some fresh air.
I needed anything
not to be waiting
inside in on
beautiful summers day
in my rocking chair.
I went for a walk under the apple tree
I told the Inner Master
“I need a hug Zee.”
In the next breath,
much to my surprise,
Came a beautiful dragon-fly
dancing before my eyes.
WahZ its you
It is you ?
Is it not?
How wonderful you came
In the form of a dragon-fly
To have a visit.
My heart was lighter
I laughed the rest of the day
I am surrounded by beauty
Within and without all along my way.
By this wonderful gift of love
in the form of a blue dragon-fly
The apples are almost ready….
Just waiting for the first frost
to kiss them
fill them with sweetness.
Now they are sour.
“When will the frost
touch me deeply
with a kiss
to turn my sour
to sweetness.
Heavenly days, I hope it is not too late.
Imagine being a grumpy sour crone standing at the gate.”
She blesses
the riders
as they go to fight
their battles.
They now carry laptops
in brief cases, not sabers that rattle.
Why does she stand here year after year?
It seems she is waiting for “he who is on his way”.
The apples are almost ready…
Just waiting for the first frost
to kiss them
fill them with sweetness
….and so is the crone.
The apples are ready.
The children soon back to school.
Time is dancing to its own rhythm and tool.
Where did time go since I climbed up the tree
to steal the pears from the school teacher?
I was just three.
Did I accomplish my mission
that I can here to do?
Is my heart open to the love divine?
For willing hands,
will the Creator use mine?
The apples are ready.
I have work to do.
Winter of my life is coming.
I am learning and loving each moment each day.
I am opening to service in my own way.
I will slice up the apples.
I will dry them and store them
For those in need.
It is my service in gathering,
this time I can win.
It is my offering
till we all are
safely gathered in.
The apples are ready.
How long has it been since this winter of my divine discontent?
Where has the excitement and ‘un-exhaled’ breath gone?
Upon awakening
Blossoming in spring
I have lingering moments of sadness
A forgotten memory if you will.
Remembering the pain of the winter
When the learning was all uphill.
The nostalgia for the trauma and drama
Is not real.
Now that I am free
from the pain in this moment
Now that I am free
of the bondage of self
I can open my heart of hearts
I can laugh again.
I can feel.
I am truly blossoming in spring.
Now to dance the dance of mirth
as my hands go digging in the earth.
The joy of worship in the garden
will loosen the chains
will bring me pardon.
The mirror lies.
It does not see.
All the joys now hiding in me.
As I blossom forth in spring.
Peeling and slicing apples for the dehydrator,
took me back to grandmother’s knee.
Her knees were always covered with a white apron
made from sugar or flour sacks.
She would peel the apple with the largest knife in the drawer
into one smooth coil and the closest grandchild
could have the peeling all to them self that day.
The orchards on the farm had many different kinds
of apples and oh her apple pies were the very best.
The price that was paid by the apple peel coil winner
was helping with the pies and the tester….
(a small pie left over from all the pie dough)
was the reward.
I can remember churning the butter
to mix with the cinnamon for the apple pies…
served with cheese or vanilla ice cream.
Most often the cheese.
Her favorite apple pie saying was
“Apple pie without cheese..
is like a kiss without a squeeze.”
My mother was one of thirteen children….
musta been a lot of cheese around somewhere.
The smell of the apples stored
in special boxes in the attic
or some of the special ones in the cold cellar
sure beats the dehydrater but when winter sets in hard
I will be glad of the dried apples….stored in the cupboard.
