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  • I find it truly magical. Seems like yesterday they were flowers, and now they blanket the soft grass under the old tree in ever-increasing numbers.

    The tree continues in its duty, proudly delivering its offspring to the earth. Thunk. I sit out back, cradling my cup of tea, and count to ten. Thunk. There goes another. A third and a fourth follow in rapid succession, thunk thunk.

    So many beautiful apples. Lovingly nurtured by a gnarled, spindly tree that has seen nothing but neglect, and I am leaving them to rot. I toy guiltily with the idea of making apple chutney, apple pie, eating more apples, even delivering apples. But I have all the excuses under the sun. I'm in the middle of moving, I'm too busy, its too hot, I'm too tired.

    I tell myself its ok, that by leaving them they'll decompose and enrich the soil. I almost convince myself I'm actually helping the tree to produce another bumper crop next year.

    Thunk. A ruby-red apple joins the rest. I make my excuses and leave.
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