Winter Apples

by Steve Luttrell

Off by the roadside
in a field of junk cars
and covered with
a fresh, white snow,

I saw it!

An apple tree in Winter,
remnant of another season,
emblem of the Fall.

Where frozen in their
perfect, golden hue,
these winter apples hang
like a hundred tiny suns
suspended in the air.

No tree of the Hesperides, is this,
just a tree that bore its fruit

that no one came to
harvest in its time
but left to fall
in Winter’s field
and seed another Spring.