Come Fall
Michael Ramsburg
197

After a punishing drought this summer we have had a rich crop of perfect apples from our antique trees, trees falling down with age. Since we came in ’83 we’ve never seen such apples, free of blight or worm and rotund and juicy from the recent rains. Some said the maples would be pale from their ordeal, but they, too, have spread their towering scarlet, crimson, butter, and gold canopies with exceptional brilliance. May we take these surprises as tokens? As we face dreaded winter we may hope that spring will find us as full of surprises — productive, generous with astonishing light and color.

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