apple-picking † my long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree toward heaven still and there's a barrel that i didn't fill beside it, and there may be two or three apples i didn't pick upon some bough but i am done with apple-picking now essence of winter sleep is on the night the scent of apples : i am drowsing off i cannot rub the strangeness from my sight i got from looking through a pane of glass i skimmed this morning from the drinking trough and held against the world of hoary grass it melted, and i let it fall and break but i was well upon my way to sleep before it fell and i could tell what form my dreaming was about to take magnified apples appear and disappear stem end and blossom end and every fleck of russet showing clear my instep arch not only keeps the ache it keeps the pressure of a ladder-round i feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend and i keep hearing from the cellar bin the rumbling sound of load on load of apples coming in for i have had too much of apple-picking : i am overtired of the great harvest i myself desired there were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall for all that struck the earth no matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble went surely to the cider-apple heap as of no worth one can see what will trouble this sleep of mine whatever sleep it is were he not gone the woodchuck could say whether it's like his long sleep as i describe its coming on : or just some human sleep ~ † robert frost, "after apple picking" north of boston, 2nd ed : new york : henry holt and co : 1915 style inspired by carolyn, "silent strings🕊️" https://suno.com/song/db4d7fa9-e536-4845-9b71-c3819ddb49aa sound design by rjh illustration by rjh and chat-gpt 6 astra (light)
