My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
We picked apples upstate this weekend. LOTS of apples. Apples to spare.
Our lovely hostess at the market. Nicole made apple deliciousness. And BISCUITS. And crack brownies. Did I mention the homemade bread? Needless to say, I consumed a trillion calories.
The trees were just starting to turn.
Bobbing for apples is a full contact blood sport, I learned. Robert nearly knocked me into the tub after telling me the secret to successful heterosexual relationships.*
Alpacas are deeply unfriendly. Why didn't he want me to hug him? Why?
*When your betrothed asks you your "number," tell him five:
- Your first
- Your college love
- The Mistake
- The one you thought you were going to marry
- The one you are going to marry
Photographs, my own. "After Apple-Picking" by Robert Frost.
