laughs Chrisas she gives us the fruit to taste first before we choose. To Rosalind - a Winesap, to John - a McCoun, to me - a Jonathan. Shadows warm at Terhune Farm with the leaves falling in the color of new friendship, in the softening of the day.
We are what we share as the apples change hands. We're taking turns.
The moments bond. Lost in the year, we remember to grow young - speckles of apple juice sparkling on our lips and catching the smiles in our eyes when we bite. Decisions are being made here soon as the sky becomes October's song... . A dog barks once. I choose a McCoun.