A Solid Apple

My boots carried me across the smooth granite toward the center of the kitchen island. Sitting there was a wide wooden bowl loaded with produce. One large red apple was propped right against the sloped timber rim, completely blocking the path forward. I planted both feet firmly, leaned down, and drove my shoulder directly against the waxy skin. It rolled forward with a dull thud, dropping into the center hollow with the rest of the pile. With the perimeter clear, I took a seat right on the polished rim, crossed my arms, and let the midday sun warm my back.