Forbidden Fruit

Cold air forcefully cleaned my lungs as I took my first deliberate breaths of the morning. My eyes slowly crept open. It was all there as I had expected. Blue sky. Bright sunshine. Bold coloured leaves. My favourite time of year was here at last. I know many hate autumn. They see it as a time of death. The anticipated fields, forests and gardens of summer alive mere months ago, now withered like the frail and sick always do at the end. Yet, this season also meant warm beds, hearty feasts and cozy times. I stretched deeply and shook myself conscious. Things and places wait for no one, I reminded myself.

Hurriedly I washed, mentally preparing my day. First job: apple picking. A long but delicious job before me, I approached the old familiar grove with an unlikely vault to my stride; the air was crisp, the ground unspoiled, and the harvest, while perhaps a toil, was one I was most eager to begin. I reached out to take the first appealing sphere before me when suddenly it seemed snatched from my very grasp. What was this? With no warning, and certainly no apology, the fruit – my fruit! - was leaving, apparently with someone else, and I was taken aback by what had just transpired.

Blast! I thought to myself; nothing is ever easy. Who did this guy think he was? This, was MY tree! MY orchard! MY yield! And I certainly wasn’t sharing it, especially with someone as sneaky and cheeky as to rip the very fruit from my clearly-there-first clasp. How dare he…was it a he? I hadn’t actually caught sight of my adversary. I looked up and there was no he or she – no one actually, and more importantly, no apple, there. Shocked, I stepped back and did what any of us might do in such unexplainable situations: immediately dismissed the entire scenario as a lack of breakfast and prepared to carry on with my chore. 

I started back towards the edge trees. The rays of day were just starting to trickle through the orchard canopy and I could smell the sweet aroma of sun-warmed apples. I looked up to find an abundance of golden produce mere steps away. I reached out and again my prize slipped through my fingers. Still surprised, I quickly looked up to see my rival. But, save for a flash of red hair, I was no further ahead. I shifted to follow, my head now back in the game, but whomever it had been there just moments ago  had seemingly disappeared as mysteriously as they had materialized. Maybe he realized that he had overstepped. I mean did that red-headed buffoon assume he could just walk in and take what so clearly did not belong to him? I concluded he must have scooped and ran. Odd, I thought, but good riddance! I didn’t have time to squabble with neighbours or strangers; I had work to do and only so much daylight – and season left - to spend on such endeavours.

I brushed off the defeat, took in another deep breath of invigorating morning air and went on to the next apple before me. I plucked the ripened fruit but again stood agape as my new acquisition suddenly bounded away from me. Wasn’t I awake? Perhaps I was still snug in my warm cozy bed picturing things that only our imaginations can conceive. These were certainly the trials dreams make. But no, I rubbed my eyes, pinched myself and concluded I was, indeed, inhabiting real time. Instantly, I deduced the red-haired ghost was to blame. I peered to see which way the apple – now merely a speck in the distance - was headed. As leaves crunched under my first step of pursuit, I froze. Was this a trap? Was I becoming a willing participant to my own demise; somehow, following this phantom to my doom? I shuddered to think what horrors this apple-grabbing goon might have in store. After all, it was still early, I was alone and the orchard was full of apples. Why the games? I ran to the next tree and reached for another apple – any apple – almost as though my sense of reality hinged on it being there, but it too vanished. Already here? I should have known; that red demon was anticipating my every thought, my every action, driving me slowly mad while simultaneously pilfering a bounty rightfully mine. Now, I understood: if I wanted those apples I would have to shift to a much more unorthodox thinking.  This was now war and the red-topped crook would leave with not one more orchard fruit today, I thought. Not one. 

I psyched myself up for the battle before me. Never had I done anything like this, yet instantly I knew the moves like a football coach with a well-used playoff whiteboard. The plan was a thing of beauty. First, I grabbed up a few of the smaller rotten fruit beneath my feet; the quantity shifting into a rough shaped mound. As I half expected, there was no contest on the part of the resident shoplifter. He wasn’t after spoiled goods. No this monster only wanted the good stuff. Excellent, I thought, now just to lure him in. I waited a moment, allowing him to think he had the upper hand. I found the bait. A plump apple glistened as the last of the morning dew evaporated off its waxy outer peel. A perfect hard exterior sheltering the even more pleasing juicy flesh inside. My mouth watered just looking at her. This apple was the quintessential fruit and as I gazed up at it I realized once plucked from its perfect perch, it would never again be this magnificent. Still, the results overshadowed this beauty. I pledged her sacrifice would not be in vain. The time had come. I planted my feet amongst the leaves and dirt firmly beneath me. I exhaled and slowly reached up. Patiently I stretched for it. Where was he? Was I too obvious? My plan began to unravel in my mind when suddenly the flash of red, I was so desperate to see, took shape. Instantly, I dropped to the ground and found my armory waiting. I grasped the first rotten orb and with all the upper body strength I could muster hurled it towards the now retreating burglar. Direct hit! I saw the red devil react to the attack with a mix of physical impact and mental shock. I reloaded, not hesitating for a second even to enjoy the first success of battle. Bruised flesh and core ripped apart as each flying fruit made impact. Again. And again. And again. I lost sight of the produce pilferer or his crimes, and yet still found myself hurling fruit as though my life depended on it. The snatch and nick of my morning had changed me. I felt myself transform from revenge seeker to liberator to warrior in what seemed like the blink of an eye. Those apples were mine – and mine alone - again. 

A wave of exhaustion suddenly washed over my entire body as though I had been wielding a heavy sword from the times of knights and jousts. My arms grew tired and I fell to the ground in a slurry of relief and fatigue. My eyes slowly opened to catch a glimpse of my red-headed foe slinking off in defeat. The orchard, and all her bounty, was mine at last. Mine as it should be. Mine as was proper. After all, being a chipmunk in a squirrel’s world takes more than a muddle of survival instincts; it takes an orchard-over-the-apple mentality and no one would knock over this little fella’s applecart and get away with it. 

I took a long deep breath. Felt the morning air fill my lungs. Cleaning them of all that had just transpired. Moments before a warrior, I had returned to the job at hand. And with that, I carefully, plucked an apple.