Pink Ladies

There were apples on the beach when we got there.  I have no idea how they came to be there, but there they were.  A bushel-worth of apples scattered over the sand like marbles on gravel drive.  I thought they were balls at first.  There were so many of them and they looked so bright against the streusel colored sand....but they were apples; shiny pink with yellow-orange underbellies.  Pink Ladies from South America.

I picked one up and it was soft; the sun and salty air had baked it.  The blue bird tried to eat one.  I taught her to toss it in the water for the seagulls instead.  She did it with unbelievable definition to her actions.  That apple was going in the water with all deliberate feelings.  The game kind of took flight from there.

There goes the rosey-cheeked little monkey, running with all her limbs.  Gathering apples and bouncing over the seaweed stripe that separates the sandcastle beach from soggy one.  There go her apples: splish, splash, splunk.  One for the wave, one for the foam, one for the birds to dive for.   

Here comes the blue bird.  First to toss the apple one handed.  It lands, kush, in the sand.  She kicks it forward once or twice, then picks it up tenderly with two hands, only to lift it high above her head and slam it mightily in the tide.

Then off they run for more.  And I ski-ball a few in myself.  The sky is blue.  And flawless, like someone spent the night on scaffolding giving it a fresh coat of paint.  The sun is warm.  The girls run.  The girls laugh.  The sand is like sugar under my feet.  And spring is here.  Hallelujah, spring is here.

We count the apples when we're all done.  50 little orbs strung along the coast like a pink pearl necklace.  A little sartorial nod to the new season.  Happy spring!