The aged apple tree is barren as days become colder.
The sweet aroma of cider, from remaining windfall fruit, floats on a chilly breeze that ruffles through brittle leaves still clinging to gnarled branches.
I have gleaned all I can, leaving behind a harvest feast for deer who visit nightly.
Candace Kubinec posts her stories at storydribbles.wordpress.com and her poetry at rhymeswithbug.com.
Really nice imagery. Enjoyed the read and could relate.
J
It is refreshing to read a well-written piece of description. So much more pleasant than dystopian carnage and ghouls and vampires; unnecessary diet of young writers, but like your apple trees, they’ll blossom in the end and there’s always the cider to look forward to, eh?
lovely, thanks