Returning to a childhood home, I find my old work, finished and abandoned in progress. While there are many lessons in such a survey, I recently decided to repurpose many of my old panels. The <windfall> of such work for me is in having once pursued their making and now having considered them again. To work again atop, seems like the higher purpose for me and the wood and the paint. So... these apples from nearly 20 years ago have been officially sauced!
Windfalls, by Florence Grossman
Windfalls, we called them, the apples
we gathered, my grandmother and I.
Sharp or sweet from tree to tree, apple to apple,
we cooked them with their jackets on for color,
filled jars of them
seasoned with cinnamon and sugar, the gift
from the side of the road.
You could hope for it
the rest of your life, things
coming together out of the blue,
like apples and wind, like words.
You could mistake it
for water, the wind building in the trees,
gathering the way a wave gathers
until it passes over your head.