We shook that crab apple tree all over. Small, hard fruit falling, dimpling the surfaces they landed on ever so slightly. There was a girl in our class who only ever went swimming in an oversized t-shirt. There was a flamingo wearing sunglasses on it. She’d tread water and let the shirt billow out around her until she looked like a giant jellyfish.
We’d bite those apples and spit them out, too sour we’d say, picking up another and doing the same thing. In heavy rain, the yard would flood, and they’d float and bob with the yellowed grass tips.