Rural

Someone re-gifted us a bag of foraged heirloom apples, given to them by someone who knew someone, who had a tree that was so gnarled and old that they no longer remembered who had originally planted it or even the variety of apple.  All they knew was that they tasted great when harvested each Autumn, and it was a shame to let them go to waste...they were well past their best before date when we received them, but they've been hanging around the back door like a stray pet for some time. I couldn't bear to send them off to the compost and the worms yet...  Originally destined to become applesauce, those charming apples with their pale golden skin glow in the dim light of the approaching winter solstice.  Capturing warmth from the table lamp perched on the edge of the kitchen dresser, they glimmer like fairy lights seasonally scattered in among antique glass ornaments.  Each time I walked past them, in daylight or darkness, they made me feel warm and Christmasy

It seems fitting that nature gives us red berries in the winter. A contrasting flash of color in an otherwise monochromatic world. And when the frost hits sparkling them with icy crystals they are even more lovely.