
Some springs, apples bloom too soon.The trees have grown here for a hundred years, and are still quickto trust that the frost has finished. Some springs,pink petals turn black. Those summers, the orchards are emptyand quiet. No reason for the bees to come.Other summers, red apples beat hearty in the trees, golden applesglow in sheer skin. Their weight breaks branches,the ground rolls with apples, and you fall in fruit.You...