Heavy Harvest

The roar of the creek falls faded behind me. In the damp grass beneath an ancient wild apple tree sat a heavy, firm red fruit, fallen clean from the highest limb. A massive prize. I planted my boots into the soil, dropped into a rigid horse stance, and clamped both hands around the cold, waxy skin. Driving force through my legs, I hoisted the dead weight off the turf. I carried the fruit across the bank to a broad granite paver, raised my right boot, and brought my heel down on the stem crease. The shell snapped with a sharp crack, spilling tart, rich juice across the stone. Pure fuel. My strength surged right back.