Lesson from a cider orchard

Early morning. Felt like autumn.
August, still revving her engines
But the air was nipping and
Something like frost coated the grass
Between the careless brook
And ripening trees.
The dawn sun rose to contradict
The air. My shoulders wore warm.

Trees held in orchard rows
Unaware of the benevolence
Ruling their lives;
Even their sensation of breezes
Of dark nights, and scorching days
Of thunder, and gentle rain
Of the inner strain,
The compulsion to swell

Twinkling eyes cast
To their neighbours
Luxuriating in the
On-rush of beauty
Green bullets learning to
Blush and sway in the wind
Looking down with
Scorn on the fallen

Grounded in degrees of decay
Telltale brown, soft
With a fermented scent
Rising with the dew-frost.
Here, not up there,
Is rapture, dark seeds
Falling to the ground
To die, to escape