The tree of apple documents space in time. Boring of course but part of the plan. Freely labour in the apple tree's shadow. It provides welter for everything spinning, who knows why? Perforce all weather is perfect, eagerly, by definition. Welcome and welcome, the blossom presumes. Shucks and certainly as the foliage surges. Then fruit, the mild certainly. There is when, when is there. Every tenement of land posits creative in the inkling. You feel the undertow of passage. Hit the brakes! The jocund fruit falls jingling in blue space. You will enjoy walking in the grandmother's time.
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