Written 17th September, 2026
Week's Poetry Challenge: Autumn Memory
Autumn meant cooler days— picking apples from the trees or helping pack them in boxes. Mostly Granny Smiths: firm, green apples made for hot apple pie. Red Delicious came with their built-in stand; Jonathans carried a blush and a crisp, sweet bite. I remember seasonal pickers high on three-legged ladders, canvas bags strapped across their shoulders, paid by the weight they carried down. Each apple was turned and lifted from its branch— stem intact, next year’s bud left safely on the tree. Above us, Mount Canobolas— an extinct volcano— gave the orchard its rich, dark soil, roots drawing sweetness into every apple.
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