You handed me my first Braeburn
that evening, while Jim Billie played,
and maybe that is why it tasted
better than any apple I'd bit
into before, with all the flavor
of our love and a warm May night.
Each since tastes of those memories,
grown sweeter with the ripening
of six seasons' insistent passage:
you and May and the music of apples
and fireflies dancing among the pines.
Stephen Brooke ©2007
It's true, I was eating a Braeburn when I started writing this. One takes inspiration where and when one finds it.