Whispers of the Soul

Fall

Crisp Apple Cider

In the heart of autumn, where orchards abound,
Golden leaves whisper, a soft rustling sound.
The air is alive with a harvest-time cheer,
As baskets of apples draw loved ones near.

Red, green, and golden, they dangle like dreams,
Each pluck from the tree holds sweet memories,
A crispness that bursts as you bite through the skin,
Juice running down, where the flavor begins.

Through winding dirt paths, the cider mill calls,
With laughter and joy echoing through its walls.
The scent of warm spices dances in air,
As the press grinds the fruit, a moment to share.

Steam curls up gently, a warm, fragrant cloud,
Where the bubbling concoction draws in every crowd.
With a splash and a swirl, golden nectar pours,
In mugs warmed by hands, love spills from the cores.

Sip after sip, it warms from the inside,
A sweet, tangy hug, where memories abide.
Each taste is a whisper of autumn's embrace,
Of family, of friends, and that warm, cozy place.

Outside, the world glows in hues of burnt orange,
While the cider flows freely, we revel, we forge
Connections that linger like the taste on our lips,
With laughter and stories, we savor each sip.

So raise your glass high to the harvest so bright,
To the comfort of cider on crisp autumn nights.
For in every drop, there's a season's delight,
Crisp apple cider, our hearts taking flight.