Mash

The fragrance fills the house
  cinnamon, nutmeg, apple
The food mill turns round
  and round, it is warm
A heady scent taking me back
  to falls cool and crisp
Filled with picking our way
  through the woods
Hunting for tracks, walking
  like deer, looking for
The signs of camp and the
  way to find ourselves
What to eat if we are lost
  then comes the encounter
A deer ahead, quiet, quiet
  watch, wait, no noise
And off it goes through
  the trees, all in the pulp
And mash of apples on a
  warm day in the kitchen