WELCOME TO AUTUMN

Apples

The orchard photos remind me.

Apples,

pictures of trees bearing apples,

apples as crisp as the fresh chill air

that surrounds them while they dangle.

From my grandmother's kitchen

was produced a hallmark of autumn,

a standard pulled from ovens

and set on windowsills to cool,

a treat made with the utmost care and love.

Apples,

unfastened from trees by my grandmother's hand

became something quite grand,

when plucked and tucked within the confines

of pie pans embossed with beautiful designs.

Apples, 

released from twirling peels, sliced and laid flat

with cinnamon sugar filling poured over them,

thumb-pressed edges confining the treasure within

until that first forkful.

Within the time of falling leaves and desiccation,

what magic lay within those crunchy balls

so that always the juices would run around

that heated pie plate and your mouth?

Only one thing more

transformed these rich shades of autumn harvest

into the finest culinary creation,

melty whipped cream swirling among

flecks and flakes of crust and fruit.

Apples,

whenever autumn rolls around,

I smell and taste and remember.