These transparent petals will have been swept to the street by Tuesday night's rain and wind. They appear for a few fragile days and fall. The tree above is in Lambert's hood of Park Slope, on Carroll below 7th Avenue...
Below, on Clinton Street in Brooklyn Heights. Older apricot trees have structure, character, opinion, grace.
This is a block away from home, in the primary colour playground. It gets a little morning sun, and in summer it sets improbable fruit, which ripen high on its spidery branches.
I am trying to remember the blossoms on the apricot tree from childhood, growing beside the turquoise rectangle of swimming pool in Bloemfontein, but I can't. I remember the fruit, thick on the branches between the round leaves, warm in my hand, sweet.
I remember the apricots. They were always ready to be "jammed"
ReplyDeleteon Christmas Eve. Not the most conventient time. They were the best ever, warm, juicy, straight off the tree.
Hen, you remember the blossoms? I sort of do, when I think of the straightish branches, and blossoms frilled all around. But it is fuzzy. Remember the youngberry? And the plums? Thank you for all that. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
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