my apple pie is burning

in the oven

the golden butter is seeping

into the dough

the folds of the crust

move like waves

in the heat

and as i pull it out with my maple

dotted mittens

and tug at the sleeves

of my wool woven sweater

i can feel the bubbling warmth

envelop my hands and face

and can't help but think that

later

when the chilly air bites my fingers

reminding me of the blanket of winter

and when the ashes of the fire

flutter to the ground

curling like blackened orange peels

when marshmallows drip

off of sticks and cider spills

out of solo cups

when the leaves wave hello as they

drift over the air

That this

will be a season that’s worth it