The Orchard in Winter

The fruit has fallen,  its season
done. No one is starving here but
there is sorrow. After all, we are mortal.

One must have faith to walk
through a frozen orchard.  Shhh,
the trees are sleeping.

We climb our mountains quietly.
Two thousand years of tears is not enough
to round all the rough edges.

Our flesh is torn
from going on.  The climb is steep
and Time has bony fingers.

It is not the sweet red apple
that we sorrow for, nor the shivering limb;
we mourn the withered blossoming.

Too long, this winter
that has chilled us to the core. Come, Spring,
and thaw our hardened hearts.

13 thoughts on “The Orchard in Winter

    1. Thank you,

      We had a very insistent snow storm yesterday. Today it is 45 degrees and the sun is making up for lost time. The birds are singing as if they are trying to summon spring. So glad to share this beautiful day with you.

  1. BoardFlak

    Sarah, this is very evocative. Winter, no matter how mild or how brief, always outlasts our tolerance for it. Walking through the woods in winter always seemed to bring out an introspective mood in me.

    1. Michael,

      Thank you for the visit and your comment.
      Walking through the woods is one of my favorite things to do. The nice thing is, a poet can forever take wonderful journeys via their pen, even when the bones get old and creaky (mine) or just plain refuse to bend.

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