Through a Photo of Fog

It took a while
But eventually I got it.
The walk through the orchard
At first was a walk through a photo of fog,
My eyes would stumble from stem to leaf and
When I finally did see the fruit I hardly recognized
Ripe from raw,
Good from bad.
Hunger driven
I only plucked from those
That hung within easy grasp.

It took some time,
(And that clock still runs)
To connect tongue to eye to hand to heart,
So that impetuous desire may yet yield
To more deliberate ways.
The shape of good,
It's form and figure
Can make a fool,
And morph uncertainty within
The sheer short moments found
Between the choices of a novice
And the commitment to the basket.