yosemite apples

the apple orchard at Curry Village,

at shuttle bus stop 14 –is a parking lot.

the trees were planted and blossomed

before Lincoln gave Yosemite to California,

and Sherman burned a swath

through Georgia.

some call them ugly, invaders,

unpruned and knobby 

but……..the trees still bear fruit

which has to be harvested before

the black bears come to feast

when the season is ripe,

and yogi urges boo boo

to climb the gnarled trunks

and grab a snoutful  of Northern Spy,

Winesap.

or Gravenstein.

and the valley swarms

with hikers and cyclers, toyotas and fords.

shuttles and trailers and babies in strollers.

the mule's ears bloom pink in the meadows,

with nectar and pollen galore

for turquoise-striped bees

who plaster their underground hives

with a coat of apian polyester.

a forested city of bugs and people,

where bears wear tags on their ears

and the merced washes the rocks and the roots

and the bones of a deer, drowned in a flood

protrude from a sandbar.

bright-colored specks of climbers,

cling to the face of the cliffs

that watch over the hubbub below.

and the walls of the canyon seem to have wept

mascara'd black streaks at the changes

they've witnessed. but that's just

anthropocentric projection.............however,

the canyon does hear, beneath the sound

of the cars and the busses, the voices

of children in joy. and the tongues

of the world speak in awe

to the ears of the world

and they say………………