The Tree Up The Hill

Another old one from my portfolio. Early writing.

The tree up the hill
It is unassuming.
It sits there by itself
Waiting for the perfect
temperature, the right shade
of light.

I awake myself every morning,
A feeling of my stem.
I relieve myself and look
down off the hill,
down toward my playground
my forest.

I pick my apple
off it's tree, from it's stem
I clean it off softly
with the edge of my shirt.
As red as a cardinal bird.
It is mine and it is sweet.