A Little Spin

I stepped past the terrace door and onto the wide, sun-warmed slate flagstones. Resting in a shallow dip between two stones was a tiny, firm crabapple, its skin bright red and buffed smooth. Its stiff brown stem stood straight up like a miniature peg. Kneeling down, I gripped the dry stem between both paws, braced my feet against the stone, and gave it a sharp, steady twist. The little apple broke into a rapid, humming spin, tracing three tight red circles across the slate before tipping over with a hollow thud against the mortar line. A faint, crisp sweetness drifted up as it came to rest.