(I did something a little different this morning. I’ve been struck by how your images are taking me in very different directions than I would have expected, Bud. So, I turned on my microphone this morning and tried to “talk” my way through the writing of this poem before I even saw the picture. I was interested in trying to capture the writing and thinking this morning. Here is the podcast — http://www.box.net/shared/01ivmerzao — it’s about 15 minutes long.)

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In the orchard, I climb trees
in places where the branches twist and turn
as if they are a road map to some forgotten place
and my eyes travel these roads to remember.

I swerve to avoid the humming bees,
and ignore the other travelers along the road
as I reach out my fingers to grasp the treasures
of time and space.

In the orchard, I remember the taste of memory
as sweetness and sour
and bite into life with my eyes closed,
thinking always that this moment may soon disappear.

I rest, weary, on the damp grass
and gaze up through the branches, again,
my vision zigzagging towards the blue sky above;
my world crunching in my mouth.

In the orchard, I climb trees
in places where the branches twist and turn …

http://vocaroo.com/?media=vMP71GbsLgcU0xJpC