A Foiled Escape

A small russet apple was attempting what could only be described as a melodramatic escape from a wooden crate by the lane. I paused my stroll along the village path, watching it teeter precariously on the very lip of the stone curb. It was utterly unprepared for the steep drop below, yet insisted on trembling with every faint draft as though auditioning for a tragedy. Walking over with measured steps, I appraised its complete lack of foresight. With a gentle nudge of my shoe, I slid a flat grey pebble snugly against its rounded base. The rebellion concluded with a quiet scrape, safely anchored in place.