I don’t have much time for contemplation in my life. I’m a knowledge worker, so most of my tasks require the better parts of my brain, leaving little time when my hands are busy and my mind is free. But this last weekend we obtained a bushel of apples. A bushel of apples means apple butter time, which means peeling, coring and cutting 20 apples, followed by much stirring. One finds oneself thinking of the infinite variety of apple seeds (apple trees don’t grow true from seeds – varietals are made by grafting), or how rarely I’ve made apple butter with Joe and Don keeping me company during playoff season.
My mind wandered. The result was two appallingly bad haikus, which I of course share with you:
Peels and cores piled high
Throwing away apple seeds
Russets never known.
Playoff baseball sounds
Peeling six pounds of apples
My team sits at home.
My Truant Pen 
Like both the haikus and the apple butter.
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