Little, tiny fruits dangle on the tips of branches waiting to be picked, or waiting for gravity to intervene; Waiting for a breeze to blow or an animal to come along. The grass surrounding this lone tree is so green. We’re on the cusp of summer, nearly departing spring; Like the seasons are one big train ride and we feel the anticipation of almost approaching our stop. Little yellow dandelions perk up smiling from the group, the ground and turn their happy heads towards the gentle sun, not yet punishing in its rays. The Earth is still turning. The bark of this tree is Crayola brown, everything has just come to life from a coloring book. The movie uses real film and not digital substitutes. There is an aesthetic quality, that will eventually, yes, be digitized. And in every tree I drew as a child, there was a hole in the center of that tree for an owl, a squirrel; A place for a creature to find refuge in the dark. Just in case. Acorns strewn about the base, or maybe just their caps. The air is sweet and the birds sing out lilting melodies, repeated over and over, hammering home that they are proud that they have built their nest, and they have laid eggs, and soon they will hatch. They are proud parents. They are expecting. A grey bunny rabbit sprints across the lawn, pausing to look up and twitch its nose. It looks around, paranoid. But there’s nothing here to threaten it. It’s just being overly cautious. To be so high that you can feel a pulsing heartbeat in every blade of grass as it catches your backside; So you can still feel its imprint once you stand back up. A crabapple tree in a painting inside a doctors office, where it is not appreciated only tolerated but impatient outpatients in the waiting room. Where the furniture is old and antiquated, and the TV blares and is on for no one. It’s just on. And it doesn’t matter what the content is, it’ll never be enjoyable. Because this is a place where no one wants to be, even the staff. It’s just another “punch in / punch out” kinda day. Where stress and paperwork gather in equal heights. The box behind the glass is filled with too many people, rushing back in forth catching telephones and medical charts, exchanging money and receipts and credit cards and checks. A buzzing hive. A healthcare nexus singularity. A microhive, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. A patient who has accidentally taken too many of their pills falls into this crabapple tree picture, like a less-awesome Mary Poppins recreation.