At the beginning ofsummer when the orchard was in bloom, where would you find all the kids?We would all be around the old apple tree at the front of the orchard.We would climb it, the bark so silky and shiny we could feel it underour fingers as we made our way up its patchy surface. Like a surprise,we would come across a rough spot, the scars of its life. They were theknots our fingers ran along as we went higher.
When we reachedthe top we could hear the rush of leaves and the buzz of bees. Our noseswere so close we could see the velvet on the tips of the petals. Tinyants came into view doing their happy dance. Sweet kisses were given toour cheeks as we passed through the branches.
Looking down tothe ground, we could hear the call that would end it. She stood on thegravel road beckoning us down. "Time for this!" or "Timefor that!" she'd holler. We all knew the dreaded call of amother.
At the end of summer, the end of the tree's givingperiod, we stood at its base. Around the trunk lay rotting apples whichbrought the taste of Mom's day-old cider to our mouths - one more littlegift.
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