Apple Smell Everywhere!

(based on Sunday at the Apple Orchard by Peter Meinke)

September, autumn in the air, temperatures cooling,

that crisp bite of a morning chill, sweater weather

in the waning season of summer, fall settling in,

and the orchards now taking on a life of their own,

reds and greens and yellows heavy on the branches,

ripe for picking, plucked for pies and tarts, apple sauce

and cider, apples ripe for eating right off the tree;

and in the air, refreshed this Sunday afternoon,

apple smell everywhere; breathe it in, long breaths

taking in that sweet smell, making us for one Sunday

afternoon free to remember other autumn days

long gone by, first days of school, squeaky floors

and chalk dust, and Saturday football games, a marching

band, and a still remembered school fight song sung

loud amidst the cheering crowd, bleachers swaying,

thunderous roars and points scored, and her hand

warm in my own, years ago and still, if only in memory,

at the apple orchard, apple smell everywhere … free 

and happy as people must have been meant to be.

And where will you find me

but among the stars dancing

in the periphery of sight,

sideward glances, or glimmering

on a mirrored lake, moonlit,

or perhaps on a lazy cloud floating

overhead, outlined by a blue sky;

just smile and wave and say “hello,”

for that is where I will be, waiting.

Hey, Gram ...

I need a hug,

and a molasses cookie

            from the cookie jar

            on the shelf,

and you,

            whose only judgement

            was that I was a good kid,

                        despite the little white lies

                        and sneaking into the attic to play

                        and jumping on Grampy’s bed,

and some quiet time to color

in the safety of your kitchen.

Lately I've Been Wondering ...

Lately, I’ve been wondering about God, god the deity,

creator, designer, giver and taker of life, all-knowing,

all-powerful; who is He really, fact or fiction, myth,

a creation story hero, where does he live, dwell, abide,

does he favor one group over another, one church

over another, one denomination, one religion, one country,

one dogma, one set of tenets, one set of rules and customs,

practices, does he prefer one style of prayer over another,

heads bowed, hands folded, penitent, and lofty sounding

with thee’s and thou’s, or just a quick much obliged, lord

in the rush of life, is amen necessary, signaling an end,

and what was he thinking with this creation, the why of this art,

the what, the reason for his artistic endeavor presented

to humankind, and how many layers of paint was scraped off,

layers underneath this one, hidden, how many starts and stops,

drafts edited or thrown away, until he got it right, and is it even done,

on display now, for sale at auction, or is it a work in progress,

subject to changes, revision, and correction; does he love us still,

can he love us now, forgive us wayward children, unworthy subjects,

or does he just relish the adoration, the power, the control,

is it as simple as Jesus loves me … this I know, from Sunday School,

or as complex as a Greek translation or Latin or Hebrew,

so many words for the same or similar concepts and how

can we know for sure, so many ages and generations removed

from Bethlehem and Genesis, like telephone gossip changed

from speaker to speaker, change building on change, and what

does he really want of us, command of us, so different now

in culture and context, conflicts over the hows and whos, the whys

and wherefores, and does this even matter, search as we might

in intellect and curiosity for answers to unanswerable questions,

proof, a search distracting us from the essence of God himself,

this divine creator of all of us, individuals, family units,

groups, states and nations, congregations, sects and denominations,

churches and synagogues, cathedrals and mosques, rented storefront

space of folding chairs and the mega space of light and sound,

Saturdays or Sundays or a mid-week meeting, King James

or NASB, NRSV, the Torah, the Talmud, the Quran, a choir

or just a joyful noise, silence even in which to listen, in which to hear,

in which to know him in whatever way we reach out, whatever way

we seek and find and worship, form a relationship with, old customs

or new attempts, old hymns and hymnals, a handful of people,

or new praise songs projected on a screen up front, an out of tune

organ or a small band of strings and brass and percussion,

microphones and amps, or maybe nothing at all, just Him,

just us, Him and me, talking, sharing our lives in the privacy

of heart and soul, knowing, believing, trusting, faith

in this God unseen, this deity an unknown reality,  

just a faith that He is, and so am I.