APPLE HATTIE

the ablution of splashing of water over fruit is a baptism of sorts, a blessing, a moment of appreciation for the miracle of creation & the cycle of life; and my part in that. tis affirming. i used to pick the biggest most perfect beautiful colorful apple, but over the course of 50 some years i have learned to choose the one that needs & desires eating. it may be bruised or malformed or discolored or smallish or just lonely. it's always pleased to be chosen & i feel appreciated, which is vital.

so, we are communing, this apple and me and our beloved mutual creator. a long while ago, i would have dried & burnished it to gleaming perfection with one of my mother's soft white cotton floursack dishtowels. now i prefer to kiss the droplets away slowly & reverently. i caress the skin with the tip of my tongue, enjoying the smooth texture and anticipatory energy of our merging. cupping this precious ripened fruit in my capable hands, my pleasure is heightened by the turgid nature of it's form.

the spent blossom winks from the puckered bottom. therein a fulfillment of purpose conveys the pleasure of a job well done. no pining for moonlit budding, nor for the swelling sundrenched blush, the heady scent luring birds and bees to engage in an age old ritual. yup the plant kingdom is ultimately too laid back to fuck, leaving the dirtywork to the insect whores, then bearing the fruits of their labors. literally.

CHOMP! so much for the blossom end of things. crisp moist flesh contrasts with yielding skin, juice spurting forth. the fragrance is breathtaking. *sigh* i nibble my way upward to the core, savoring each morsel, ultimately to unearth one by one each precious seed tucked into it's own niche. every seed a potential tree. how awesome is that? all the more pleasure as i tickle them free with my excited tongue, drawing each sensuously into my hungry mouth. slowly i masticate them, ever so intently one after the other, groking fully their ultimate sacrifice. (shussshhh you! ...despoiler of a gal's fanciful seed fetish!)

as i progress beyond the core, the round lush curve that remains is savored, dangling aquiver from the stem. the vestigial umbilical cord that once nurtured this wonderment remains in my fingers as i lick the sweet moisture from my blissful lips. the stem alone is spared.

smooch,
Apple Hattie