Now in November in the mountains of Vermont, having missed the joy of gathering apples on the top of Wilbraham Mountain, Marash Girl wandered along the roads and trails of Stowe, spotting the occasional gnarled apple.
|And then she looked up. . .|
|Alert to the existence of the wild apples, Marash Girl, in a tarred parking lot bordering a rock strewn stream, spied, nestled among the rocks, beautiful golden apples.|
|Wild organic apples, a gift from the past . . .|