The Apple Gift

On days like today, when Jon isn’t home for lunch, I sit outside on the back porch to eat.

The wind was blowing so strong it knocked two of my plants, in clay pots, off the windowsill.  I found myself watching the wind wondering what it would blow over next, more than reading.  If there are any apples I thought as I watched the wind whip through the branches of the big old apple tree, they’re sure to fall today.

And then, as if it read my thoughts a bright red apple flew from the very top of the tree and bounced once on the still green grass before landing.

The apple felt like a gift.

I had just taken the last bite of my veggie burger.  Thanking the tree,  I left the porch and picked up the apple.  I sat down on the grass to eat it, then thought better of it.  I was too close to the birch tree which is probably as old as the apple tree and is always shedding branches even after a professional pruning a couple of years ago.

The apple was a delicious contradiction.

It was juicy, soft yet crunch, and both tart and sweet at the same time. The best kind of McIntosh.    I ate around the bruise savoring every bite.

When I was done, I found an ant eaten apple for Lulu and gave Fanny my bruised core.  The donkeys seemed as grateful for their apples as I was.