November 26, 2023

By Arthur H. Gunther III


     I took a whiff of an apple, a simple thing, and it made all the difference.

     Passing the kitchen counter, seeing a basket of fruit from a local orchard – once there were many, now just a few, Concklin, Davies among them – I took the apple in hand, rubbed it against my shirt, as you do and gave it a whiff, as you do. 

     I did not bite into it, for I wasn’t hungry, and, besides, the whiff, the fragrance, was enough. Sometimes you don’t need it all to have enough.

     That one whiff, a deep breath, reminded of childhood walks through orchards by myself in such utter but reaffirming quiet that, again it was enough.

     That one whiff brought me into my Nana’s kitchen, she a pie maker, my Gramps the peeler who could do an apple in one peel draped to the floor. An image even now enough to be real.

     That one whiff had me at school lunch when an apple came for dessert in a sage green tin box, after the swiss cheese sandwich. An appetite was met then and now. Enough.

     That one whiff morphed in memory to the stronger one of apple drops off local trees as you walked home. It told of coming winter and snow and sledding. A teaser. Enough.

     So, in a quick passing by of a bowl of fruit, a polished apple, a whiff taken, so many images conjured up. It made all the difference on that one day.

     The writer is a retired newspaperman (ahgunther@yahoo.com)


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