The start of the apple cycle.

Standing in the broken shade I can feel the skin around my eyes smooth. I switch on the flying lawn-mower filter and the ambiance is now disturbed only by the distant grumble of light traffic (no trains or planes for a moment). Birds in far trees call and sing. In high fidelity, three dimensional sound, my ears fill with the buzzing of honey bees. The fresh pink, veined blossoms fill the air with the appetising scent of apple. Sun touches and warms cryptic patterns on my skin through the boughs and buds. Over-long lawn tugs gently on my toes.