Crisp (an acrostic poem)

Image: assets.epicurious.com/photos/58332829de1def5b05b7eb37/4:3/w_1775,h_1331,c_limit/hard_apple_cider_21112016.jpg

Cider so hard you need a hammer and chisel to drink it

Resulting in puckered lips that would make an Instagram influencer jealous

It leaves an impression on the consumer’s soul

Searing the memory of that tree, that branch, that fruit, that moment

Permanently into your psyche

Cider (an acrostic poem)

Image: assets.epicurious.com/photos/58332829de1def5b05b7eb37/16:9/w_2560%2Cc_limit/hard_apple_cider_21112016.jpg

Cold pressed apple fluids left outside in a large jug

In the dead of winter the water freezes on top

Driving the flavor into a more concentrated solution below

Each time the blah ice is then removed and the process repeats over and over for months

Rewarded finally with a fermented drink that tasted of sunny autumn days and patience

Mug (an acrostic poem)

Mulled spices dance among the hot apple cider

Under the curling steam rising over the ceramic

Grabbing the handle, I bring it to my lips and enjoy

 

Image: i2.wp.com/www.thatskinnychickcanbake.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Mulled-Cider-660×440.jpg

Hard (an acrostic poem)

Huge difficult things were coming down the pipeline, but Jenny could handle it

And all she needed to do was work more than everyone else

Reaching for her alcoholic cider, she enjoyed its crisp bite

Didn’t they know she was as tough as diamond?  They would soon.

 

Image: upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/8f/Apollo_synthetic_diamond.jpg

Footsteps on the Moon

The soft white snow made crunching noises as Clarence walked across its pristine surface.  Looking back at his own tracks, he wondered if Neil Armstrong’s footprints were still on the moon.  What would it mean to leave such a mark on another planet and human history?  Clarence looked up at the full moon, trying with all his might to see if they were still there, but he knew the gesture was futile.  Still, for a moment, he thought he could glimpse that history.

A sudden wind gust swept across the landscape, snow leaping into the air and dancing to a mad tune that could only be heard in the whipping air.  Clarence shuddered at the chill north wind and closed his eyes to its frolicking snowflake dance partner.  Just as suddenly, the wind lost its melody and the snow sat back down waiting for the next number.  Clarence looked around him, the landscape had changed in that simple moment, erasing its memory of his passing.

Clarence looked back at the moon.  Those footprints might still be there, but that was a dead tidal locked rock island in a large space ocean.  Even though it chilled him to the bone to think about his own mortality, he was much happier to be here where he could watch the dance around himself, even if it meant his mark on this place would eventually be blown away in the symphony of change.

Clarence continued his walk, not worried about the footsteps he was leaving behind, but about the warm glass of mulled apple cider that was yet to come.