The Apple Grove

A poem inspired by Sylvia Plath

I saw my life laid out before me like the Apple Grove from my childhood

Each tree a different decision to be made, a different path

Some held more fruit than others

One tree was plentiful in fruit and held crisp juicy fuji’s

Another looked identical but at a closer look many of the apples has been turned into a bug’s home

Another held only granny smiths,

And another was quite bare, most of the apples rotten and laying on the ground.

I approached each tree cautiously and inspected each apple closely

I picked a few of them off the branch and tried them

I’ve yet to chose my favorite row let alone my favorite apple variety, tree or even apple

On my little legs this grove seemed infinite, it would take years to see every tree the grove had to offer

How could I possibly choose without knowing what lie ahead?