A yellow fruit like apples dangles from the limbs of a leafless tree in the empty lot beyond our backyard fence. They poise in air between a horizon of new green grass and gray wood of brush and fence. It has been raining for four days and blowing even wet dead leaves from place to place, but the yellow fruits are still as if surreal. From this distance I can’t imagine what they are, yet they are there.
11 January 1980