Squishing Crabapples

As I am walking to work, still in my apartment complex, just before I reach the back of the fire station, there stands a small ornamental crabapple tree. It must be beautiful in the spring when it flowers, bending the air with its fragrance.

In the fall, it sheds the tiny little orbs of sour fruit, scattering them about the lawn beneath its disjointed limbs. They litter the grass like marbles on a sidewalk, and when you walk underneath the tree, they sink into the soft brown earth below the grass until they can go no lower. Then they collapse under your weight, squirting all squishy under your shoe, making a soft little popping noise.

Its absolutely grand. Everytime I reach the tree, I slow way down and purposely step on as many little apple bombs as I can, giggling when they explode, amused at how quickly the bees appear for breakfast or dinner. Sometimes, I walk back through and take another round at squishing the fragrant fruit, waging riotous warfare with the totally cooperative elements. Its so satisfying!

Where else can you safely implode your frustrations in life so effortlessly and beneficially? Besides, who knows how many new crabapple trees may result from a bit of fun-filled havoc? OK, so maybe I am reverting to my second - or third or fourth - childhood. But I don't care. If you can't be childlike, you can't enter the kingdom of heaven.

And it renews within me that sense of awe and wonder at a Creator who designed such an interesting and curious place for us to explore. Yahoo and happy squishing.