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Peeling an Apple in Autumn
The soul-satisfying pleasure of spirals
I am not one of those gifted ones
whose steady hands peel an apple
in one long, sinuous spiral
that slides with tangy-sweet grace
to the cutting board scarred from years
of sharp-bladed, energetic knives.
My awkward hands
leading with my left,
backed by my tentative right,
can produce nothing but small,
chunky half-curls, dragging with them
more of the apple’s flesh
than a gifted chef could tolerate
in her admirable, efficient
well-stocked and shining kitchen.
But the hands of us both, peeling apples
in our separate spheres of influence,
will achieve something remarkable,
releasing into the house-tethered air
The soul of the apple, its autumnal scent
flooding our mind with memories
of other times, other apples,
other moments
solitary or shared
when the apple skin surrendered
to the unrelenting knife
in shining spirals of red or green or gold.
That Eve should have reached for an apple as her first act of defiance in Paradise seems to me to be the perfect choice for initiation into the sensual world.
Apples are very abundant in many parts of the world. Unfortunately, sometimes abundance can lead to a lack of appreciation. But every time I peel and slice an apple, of any variety, I cannot help but notice with pleasure what a small, perfect little miracle a ripe apple is.
If you too enjoy eating an apple now and then, or as often as you can, whether by itself or sliced in a pie or tart, you might also like this poem about the first joyful bite of the first apple in Autumn:
This Is the Time For Picking Apples | by Deborah Barchi | Curated Newsletters | Medium
