Every time a fully grown and mature fruit tree is on its way to bearing fruit, one always sees first thousands of flowers decorate its branches. Hundreds of them are blown by the wind. Still, many of those who have weathered the wind cannot resist the quivering of branches as birds come to perch.

Lucky for those who make it to the first  month. And yet, not all are destined to maturity. Nature takes its course in the guise of the wind and the birds. Perhaps it's a way of countering overpopulation - ensuring that what remains will grow healthy for humans, kids and adults alike, to munch. Rose apples, or tambis in our local dialect, are no exception.

a heap of cute bells

their lives cut short by the birds

can't see them turn pink

oo0oo

cream colored bells lay

mourning for their lives just snatched

by the cruel wind

oo0oo

they failed to make it

helpless baby rose apples 

the broom does its job

oo0oo