Apples

102 total words    

<1 minutes of reading

Nothing is one thing.

Everything is something else.

All summer the mountain wildflowers

Birthed into the blue challis

Of sky, fragrances beat out of them

By the broomstick of wind. At night

The wind, self-effacing, and the silence

Of oaks, a thing to reckon with

And behold—but all for what?

Some say the stone troth of the mind

Is nothing compared to the heart.

Some say be the rope and bucket

To the drywell of compassion.

There really isn’t much choice is there?

Come winter the three-legged fawn

Will fall to the coyote

But that doesn’t stop me

From setting out apples.

 

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  • Charles Finn

    Charles Finn is the editor of the literary and fine arts magazine High Desert Journal and author of Wild Delicate Seconds: 29 Wildlife Encounters (Oregon State University Press 2012). His poetry, fiction, and nonfiction has appeared in a wide variety of magazines, newspapers, and journals.

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