A Moment with Apples

It is rain again.
It is rain becoming
a mirror along
black stretches of road
winding through a country
that explodes
with the red of apples
at every turn.
It is rain glazing
the apples before they fall,
glazing the red glaze
of apples, which hang there,
silent, almost breathing,
feeling the change of
season move around
the shapes they make
in the unpronounceable air,
as if a pair of hands
moving that way,
almost touching, could
tell us something
we have no other way
of knowing.

-By Ralph Black
-Once I lived next to a giant apple orchard and could smell the sweet ripening apples in the fall. Though today I made apple pie using apples from my tree in the backyard. It is the first year it has given me more then just one. The pie was delicious...