The old crabapple tree is a curtain of blossoms and I circle it in my new pink sneakers. The boys from the neighborhood come out to play. The new game is wilderness survival. When the game gets heated, the boys push me; they splash mud on my sneakers and somehow, I laugh at it. We make pine needle beds to lie on. One of us comments that survival isn’t so hard. The light simmers in the yards until it dyes every house ember-purple. In the last shards of light we concern ourselves with collected pinecones, distributing their small seeds on the ground.