Autumn Pie

Apple pie, fresh from the oven
cools on a rack, whiffs of cinnamon-nutmeg
aroma rise through the pastry vent
then drifts through
the kitchen window opened an inch or so
mingling with a hint of moulder on the breeze.

The apple peelings still lay on newspapers
on the counter, deep crimsons mottled with yellows, greens
mirror fall leaves of brilliant hues.
Is this a coincidence? Perhaps-but perhaps not.
possibly nature intends apples be such colours
as a reminder autumn is close at hand.

The pastry, free formed into an irregular shape,
rustic, like nature. Trees, some now partially stripped
of leaves, exposed gnarled limbs twisting and turning
madly off in all directions.  Showing their imperfections
yet beautiful in their own way, silhouetted
against an October deep azure sky.

Reminisces of baking apple pie
snapshots in an album in the mind's eye.
retrieving them, recollecting that day, will sustain
when December's snowflakes flutter about,
when January's winds wail and
when February's blizzards drift high against the doors.

           Am in the process of adding poems I have written over the past few years.  As it is now Autumn this seems fitting.

#autumn poetry