Country Scrumping.

[dadio]

Your country cousin took you
Across a field to a vast orchard
Where low hung branches
Made the green apples within
Reach of your young boy’s hands.
Don’t eat too many of them
Or you’ll get gut ache, she said.
Your eyes had never seen so
Many apples, row after row
In long lines down the field and
Fields beyond. You picked an apple
And bit into it. They make cider
From these, she said, picking off
An apple too and biting with relish.
Your younger sister looked nervously
On wondering if she too should pick.
Go on, your cousin said, pick and eat.
Your sister reached up and pulled
And a few apples fell to the ground
With soft sounds of thump on the
Short grass. She picked up one and
Brushed it off on her dress. Have to
Run if the farmer comes, your cousin
Said, and don’t tell of this or we’ll be
For it. For what? Your sister asked.
Your cousin looked around and replied,
A good telling off or a good tanned ass.
You stood all three of you eating, beneath
The apple trees, in the short green grass.

[joel]

Beautiful, solid, sour oranges on the streets of Athens;
small, firm, smooth olives on the Palatine Hill in Rome;
backyard sweet and reachable apples on Catoctin Mountain--
only one was palatable. I agree with you.

[dadio]

Thank you, Joel.

[Kailashana]

Sigh.

[dadio]

Thank you, Anna.

[saw]

I can relate, though my preference was cherry trees.....got run off more than once by the owners.....our boyish memories still ring strong.......

[the mingo]

*Sparkle on the Monkey Train* on this, Terry, what a clean clean cut it is !
Fuck yeah, Mongolia !!

[dadio]

thank you, Saw & the mingo.