They're infested with coddle moth, and having been pruned rather randomly, thank you Warren, are growing fewer apples than previous years. Is that the correct use of fewer? I don't know the correct use of fewer. Still, they are as crisp and sweet as is possible and nearly ready. The peaches aren't far behind.
Food. That's pretty much my day in summary.
Well, that was pathetic. Um. Here's a poem:
By Ron Koertge
Until then, every forest
had wolves in it, we thought
it would be fun to wear snowshoes
all the time, and we could talk to water.
So who is this woman with the gray
breath calling out names and pointing
to the little desks we will occupy
for the rest of our lives?