D.O.P.-T.

The apricot tree in the old lady's garden across the street, where no one is living now, has a few dead branches on the driveway side and produced very few of its tiny, sweet fruits, but they were immediately eaten up by the local wildlife. A few stones lie around the base of the tree. If I knew where to put it, I'd try to grow a seedling. The newer cultivar that another lady in the neighorhood has is laden with larger, oranger fruits; I see her picking them almost every day, but some are still falling in the grass.