The Last Apple.

In an irregular fashion I have been harvesting our garden windfalls since before Poppy was born. So that's at least two months, more likely three or even four since the first of the year fell. After heavy winds last night I went out into the garden this afternoon and there on the tree I noticed the hardiest of them all, clinging on, steadfast, resolute, the last apple.

When it falls I'm sure the first frost and ice of the winter will arrive.. it must come soon. I've been hoping this winter will be a short one, I might get my wish...Irish folklore claims that if an apple is peeled into one continuous ribbon and thrown behind a woman's shoulder, it will land in the shape of the future husband's initials.