I spent many summers there, 

under the cerulean sky 

reflected in the ripples of 

the water. Birds would croon 

on their perches, and the breeze 

would rustle through the 

leaves of the apple trees. 

The apple trees! 

The apple trees, 

whose fruits would blossom 

in the Spring, and would 

ripen in the Fall. I would 

pick them where they hung, 

their blush bright against 

my skin. Their crunch 

would resonate in the air 

while the sweetness 

saturated my tongue. 

But Winter was beautiful here, 

the air unlike any other. 

refreshing, reviving 

flowers from the cold. 

And the snow would 

fall unbidden, lonely flakes 

delicately placed as 

dancers on the stage. 

But Summer! 

Oh, Summer was my 

favourite on this 

Nothing could compare 

island paradise. 

to the sun warm on my 

skin, and the birds 

singing a melody 

to the sky. Nothing could 

compare to the sweet, 

sweet flowers in full bloom, 

giving life to the already 

vibrant island. But most 

of all, I loved the groves 

of the apple trees. 

The apple trees! 

The apple trees, 

of which were the best 

in the country, and whose 

rosy sweetness were 

so tempting. Pluck one off 

a branch, and you would 

have the world in your 

hands. Take one bite, 

and you would know 

the wonders it will tell. 

But I have a secret – 

just one – about 

these apple trees. 

Would you like to know?

Joanne Fong