In the early part of the valley resides an old apple tree. I’m not sure of it’s variety but the apples are like none that I’ve seen elsewhere. Golden globes, squat and fat, but little bigger than crab apples.
They appear only every two or three years and are perhaps the sweetest I’ve ever tasted. This year looks like it’s going to be a good harvest and I’ll be keeping an eye on the maturing of the fruit.
Backlit by the low sun, the flare and blur catch just the hazy days of spring that I’m looking for.
