~MARGARET
PERRY~
SNOW
APPLES
There, upon the bleak
fruit tree,
are the snow apples, the two remaining proofs of what this tree had
borne
last autumn. What do I see beyond the snow-capped, desiccated,
now
burnt-orange apples? The birds pirouetting above, other winter
animals
roaming below this tree, learn and live the codes of nature, the ones
I've
ignored or forgotten. The dead fruit will drop one day, and still
I shall be perplexed about why two apples remain on this tree in
February,
believing as always I am one with Nature and understand all of its
manifestations.
We fool ourselves into thinking this, sensing, perhaps falsely, that
the
ichor of the gods is in us, too, transforming our bodies into an
immortal
self. The dark and silent trees do not have our questions, and
live
with ease. I think again, and I say to myself — I must
relearn
the lessons of nature.
© by Margaret Perry
