The Orchard Diary

by Meg Smith

I am blanketed, sure,
ready for Advent.
On this floor,
I’ve made a wreath
of apples —
bruised, pocked, red-green.
Within their circle,
I’ve made a circle,
of pine needles.
I will mark each day
in a blue notebook.
In smooth arcs,
I will craft
a snow angel,
in snow air,
on this same floor.
And spring will find me thus,
empty but free,
and my best of psalms
yet to breathe.