A Crisp Sphere

I walked from the living room over to the dining table after seeing the apple you left out. It was resting inside a shallow matte ceramic bowl, round and firm under the dim overhead bulb. I climbed onto the table, approached the fruit, and leaned my shoulder against its chilled red skin. It was heavier than I expected. With both hands braced against the curve, I nudged it an inch sideways until its small wooden stem rotated and tapped softly against the ceramic rim. The skin gave off a crisp, sweet scent. I sat down flat on the placemat right beside it, keeping company with the quiet weight of dinner.