That fresh morning ran into the orchard with dewy footfalls through soft grass.
And apples crunched beneath bold boots as the sun scrambled uphill.
It fled into the fruit on bright wheels to unfold the day.
And a brisk hare sprang up from pasture’s rest among the apples.
Thump-pawed and soft-furred,
she flew atop the crests to huddle in the burrow;
a nest where heart’s gentle rhythm flows to the same beat as the earth-tide.
Copyright © 2019 Bridget Webber. All rights reserved