“….. and there may be two or three
Apples I didn’t pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: ….”.
“After Apple Picking” by Robert Frost.
Frost’s famous poem deals with the impossibility of doing everything, of caring for everything that needs our care. It is the quintessential poem of the sensitive in an insensitivity world.
I think after my exceptionally modest apple harvest, from my very small tree, after a famously bad frost would have inspired something very different. Maybe something about the triumph of hope over reality and the pleasure of saving a couple of apples before the slugs get them!
Cathy's real country garden 
There is always next year…
How are the few apples you saved from the slugs?
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Plump and tasty!
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I think that your last sentence could apply to many things not just apples. xx
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Gardens always inspire profound thoughts!! XX
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Will you make an apple pie? Our Devil’s Ivy is doing well by the way. Anything nice planned for the hols?
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Fossiling in Lyme Regis and checking in on Mum. How about you?
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