The Apples in My Orchard

 

Curled up on the couch with a favorite book in hand,

covered by a cozy, warm, soft blanket in the drabbest 

green you ever saw, sleepiness invades my morning.

Outside it is gray, the maple leaves still green but now with a musty tone

signalling the soon to be revealed colors from under the silvery green, palmate

foliage. The wind blows like an old man’s heavy sighs moving the leaves and branches

against their will. They are pushed and pulled this way and that. Yet, none

fall. Yet.

 

Dirty White Clouds in thick layers line the horizon that seems strangely

much closer than if it were clear and sunny.  Not yet cold, but it seems so when

you look out the window beyond the warmth of the couch.

 

My book beckons me to a sunnier place, with the promise of a trip on which

I will gladly go. It’s a late gray September day, teetering on the brink of  frost filled

mornings, colorful leaves, smiling pumpkins, and hot cocoa promised to fill us with

happiness and warmth.  Until then, I will have to draw on coloring my world from

the inside out.