This morning the apple tree on the corner hung a curtain of leaves and opened what the gardener calls a blush fitting room. One apple at a time slipped behind the foliage, tried on a pink, and waited for the branch to nod.
We asked at the kiosk across the street. "I thought they were only ripening," said a woman with a paper bag. "Then two of them swapped places. The paler one went back in for another shade."
A note in the gardener's book asked visitors not to pick until the fruit had said hello to the branch. Tuesday's apples, it added, were still deciding between rose and peach.