We filled buckets high with apples when summer ended -
Their scent brings back memories of July afternoons, long hours of warm sunlight and laziness -
Brown from the sun, I'd stretch out under the lichened tree -
The apples would hang from the branches like promises of happiness -
I would shut my book, placing it face up upon the gentle grass -
I would close my eyes -
Watchful birds would sing their ancient songs -
I'd dream I was walking in The Garden of Hesperides -
Beyond the trees was an uncrossed ocean -
Above my head were golden apples -
16.30
Monday 14 April 2015
The Old School House
East Stoke
Dorset
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