Sunday, October 25, 2009

Fall Front Porch Sittin'

Yesterday was really a beautiful day here in NC once the monsoon passed. I was in Bethania for the better part of the afternoon at the Black Walnut Festival. Great folk music, Brunswick stew cooked in an iron pot suspended over an open fire, honey crisp apples, lots of wonderful art work and people who define the vision of community. Most of the houses are between 100 and 200 years old most with front porches adorned with our flag and rocking chairs. With the trees on fire with fall and a warm breeze blowing, all I needed was an invitation to sit on this porch with a glass of lemonade and watch the passers by.

Link to photo album from the afternoon.

After Apple Picking

by Robert Frost

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still.
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples; I am drowsing off.
I cannot shake the shimmer from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the water-trough,
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and reappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
And I keep hearing from the cellar-bin
That rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking; I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall,
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised, or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.

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