We drove to the orchard, but nary an apple did we spy.
Turns out, everybody else in town thought it was the perfect day, too.
Luckily, it was also the perfect picture-taking day.
“Where are the Honey Crisp apples?” the boys asked.
“We didn’t get any.”
SUCH a little brother response.
Berry juice, blood-stained finger-panting imp.
She’ll always be my little girl with a bit of mischief in her.