A Big Apple

A beautiful apple. An example of nature’s perfection—smooth to the touch, round to the eye, firm in the hand. The sight of it evokes memory of apples past: biting into it, the skin snapping, the cold appley meat breaking away—sweet and sour and, in a way, wonderfully obscene. The immediate unspoken sense is that this apple is somehow for me.

The fact that the apple and I have come to be here, now—to eat and be eaten—gives me a sense of order in the universe. I suppose the apple would disagree.

For me, millions of years of events, great and small, have led to this transcendental moment (and delicious snack!); for the apple, death. And this moment is a collaboration of my choice (to dine) and a universe—like this apple—whose deep nature is to offer me the opportunity to do so.

Thanks, apple; some day it'll be my turn.