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