Making Cider

There is the day your friend visits and finds the  trees  heavy with  fruit.  Ripe. Rotten almost.    The apples  riddled with worms.  You’ve  let them drop to the ground.   One after another.  Hoping a bear will come.  Or  deer.  To eat the apples. Your friend says, you know these will make great cider, right? …

Ancient

We are ancient, or think we are. Our tired knees and bruised heels tell us so as we climb from the valley floor to the lookout, the one perched high on the ridge above the valley. We spend an hour here before descending to the lake for camp. We make dinner and eat as the…

The Trees

History. I seem to run into it everywhere.  I wasn’t looking for it this morning.  Not at all.  I simply want to go for a walk, wander in the woods.  Dispel the melancholy that seems to own the morning.   A March morning, somewhere near spring.   A breeze bends some of the drooping tips of the…