Applesauce

My mother made applesauce,

With fruit fresh from the tree.

Crisp and biting the smell conjured up,

The season's makeup in a moment.

Golden leaves 

and ghostly branches,

The old river 

and Thanksgiving Day.

Moth balled sweaters, 

Hot chocolate foam.

Bright white full moons and 

the cozy shuttering of windows.

...

Warm gloves,

Dried root cellar vegetables,

Window frost,

...

A breezy afternoon full of colors 

and the rain.

The apples filled the kitchen with a warm whispering steam,

And my nose itched from spices and soap.

Those were the happiest days,

Applesauce days...

...mid Autumn. 

Photo Credit: Jean Smith - Pinterest