Sister apple trees, one fuller than the other, transform to white confections every April.

Tirelessly, bees buzz from bloom to bloom. A long rain nourishes roots and hidden tendrils.

Infant fruit withstands wind, insect borers, and waterless days.

Freckled young apples grow, blush pale red, ripen, ready to be eaten.

Deborah lives and writes in northwestern Montana. Her stories can be read in The Ekphrastic Review, Thin Air Magazine (Online) and The Potato Soup Journal among others.