"warm summer afternoon a huddle of houses, lazy, confetti on the cove bank biting winter winds banished yet remembered blueberries wait, hillside bold green not blue bakeapples collected in rubber-booted pails sold standing proud in glass jars atop a car hood at the roadside simmered on the stove back home until jam ladled thick, “precious as gold dust”, small jars only proffered to those cherished who live away i sit down to a could-never-be-too-big bowl of bakeapples shining yellow crowns white sugar sprinkled peaking from a blanket of fussell’s thick cream taste the sun "   Submitted By: NULL