Among other things, she could pass through trees. She could grab the mane of the winter wind and gallop through bone-fingered branches. Cities and strange words exploded against her. Her room with an overflowing plastic toilet. Kisses that made her faint. Wedding cake and cheers. The child gone.
The orchard was in the ecstasy of birth. Trucks topped with apple-red hats bounced along the rutted paths to the co-op. Tourists from the cities laughed, posed each other for photographs. She was a photograph. She was an apple.
Text and Images © Andrew Auten – All Rights Reserved