Every summer at about this time I engage in a stupid ritual. These beautiful little charmers look good enough to eat.
Tonight was my 2016 stupid crab apple ritual. The setting sun was shining brilliantly on the tree bowing with fruit as I passed on my way to Rotary.
"Those look delicious," I tempted myself. "They can't possibly be as sour as I remember. They're brilliant. They're beautiful. This crop must be as sweet as maple syrup in March."
Tonight I set a new record for distance spitting a bite of crab apple pulp.
Seems like somebody ought to warn about the perils of apple temptation.