Waves of random showers

soak once-parched plants

on this wet October day.

Some soothe forgotten succulents,

while others cue autumnal chapters

of bubbling baked apples,

laced with sugar and cinnamon,

brimming with melted butter,

delivered simply and securely,

without a dog-eared recipe, directly

from her heart and Midwestern oven.

The sweet, fruity aroma

cues my creative spirit,

fires my tired fingers,

fuels my ever-willing voice,

and ignites tomorrow’s

best intentions to nurture

seedlings of songs and stories

that otherwise might never grow,

never emerge, never be written.