A Cool Weight

I crossed the wide expanse of the tabletop toward the fruit bowl. Beside the ceramic base lay an apple, taut and deep red, far heavier than it appeared from the floor. I planted my boots, set both hands against the curved skin, and shifted it a single inch to clear a level space. The fruit stayed cool against my palms. I sat down flat on the polished grain, resting my back against the firm curve of the rind. The room was quiet. A solid rest after the climb.