The apple tree waits in the garden with limbs outstretched, her unpicked sweetness bared to nature’s wants, offering sustenance to the wild and unsettled visitors wandering through her woods.
Mother nature is making music of the frozen fruit, dancing with slippered toes, leaving white footprints of frost as she preserves fall’s heat.
Winter, he is strong, powerful, morphs wetness into wonderment, traps white hot desire until the solstice wakes his lover and returns her to his bed for a fleeting embrace. Winter’s muse stretches her dewy limbs further each new day after the solstice. With the gentle budding breasts of springtide, she thrusts her fragrant desire forward to claim the bursting, thirsty sunlit mornings, gently consuming Winter’s handiwork, and not shy about taking more.