There is a Crab Apple tree in my front yard, planted years ago by someone I have never met. Under it's arching boughs I sprinkled some of my sister Dicy's ashes. In the spring a riotous garden of daffodils and tulips blooms there, beneath blossom laden branches. The fruit of the tree hangs on through the fall and into the winter. In late winter migrating flocks of Waxwings pass by and feast on the tiny apples, and in the spring the first Robin's to appear gorge on the fruit until the weather softens enough to provide them more dining options. The tree has a rosy glow in almost every light, and is beautiful no matter the season. Today a delicate morning snow dusted each branch and tiny apple. Frosting on the cake....
