The fallen apples

Right now, in the garden, there are so many apples on the ground that it smells like apple cider, rotting fallen apples, so many I no longer pick them up, I kick them into the hostas, the hydrangeas, the beds of flowers, these fallen apples that fill the air with their smell, their perfume, these green and red apples visited by wasps, half eaten by squirrels, a ground hog passing through the garden, and the sound of heat bugs on a hot August day with their loud call from wherever they may be.               

16 May 2010, thirteen years ago

 

It was thirteen years ago, mid-May 2010, and I spent most of the month in Vancouver, doing research at the UBC library, staying at the residence on the UBC campus, visiting with CZ's family and hanging out with CZ. Here is the old apple tree in our backyard in Montreal; whatever there was of a garden can't be seen here, it was on the periphery of the garden but it was there, and spring had arrived in Montreal. It was 16 May 2010.