The Apple

The heft of it in my hand. Walking home from the grocery store. Another toss. The solid "whap" as tight skin slaps my right palm. A bag of dinner carried on my left; beer and bread and butter. Waiting for the right time to bite into the apple. Waiting.
When it comes, it happens without thinking. The first bite always too large. A flood of sweet, a dribble down the chin. Wipe with the back of the hand as my tongue maneuvers the over sized piece. A grunt from my body; vocal satisfaction. Chewing and swallowing the sweet juice. The smell of the apple. The crunching. Memories flood in; of the first apple I really appreciated. The one with a bread roll. When I was a boy. Bread and fruit. Complete meal. Satisfaction.
A dozen brown and shiny babies lie waiting. Waiting for the right time. After winter cold and spring wet. Some to sprout, some not, some later. At the edge of a ditch, on the side of a street; waiting, waiting.
It is a silent contract between the apple and us. We eat and the seeds get carried a long way. Whether landfill or street side, doesn't matter. Just so long as the relationship benefits both.

The Universe inhales and exhales. 100 billion years or more; slow breaths. It expands and contracts, grows and then, shrinks, impossibly small. Space itself collapses and there is nothing outside of a tiny seed, minute and waiting. Waiting to expand again, to sprout another cycle; over and over, endlessly. No beginning and no end. Infinite.
There are silent contracts between so many things. We and the apple, the apple and the Universe, that and us. There is so much we don't know.

Full of apple, I toss the core to the side of the road. I do this with a sense of satisfaction, a satisfaction given in silence; a nod of approval by a smiling child, curly haired and cloud clothed. The apple, in a way, is now a part of me as I am an important part to the apple. A messenger or a delivery boy. Called by sweetness and the promise of memories. A completion.
A dozen shiny brown babies wait, held tight in the dried core, close to the earth; overgrown. Waiting to inhale and expand; They, We and the Universe.