I have always loved this tree. It bears tiny crab apples that are too large for birds and almost too sour for even the deer. But it is gloriously beautiful. Perfect height for shaded picnics and drenched in bridal-white blossoms in spring. And then even in death, it glows gold. Oh to be like this: Putting forth my best fruit even if it isn't perfect, offering all of who I am right where I'm at, beautiful in the beginning, glorious at the end.