She reached towards the sky to her left, aiming for the perfectly plump, round-shaped fruit. Eager to pluck it and add it to the others lying in the basket, she leaned forward just enough to force the branch to creak ominously before cracking. Birds scattered about. "Someone's been laying eggs", she mused contemplatively.
She loved these days on the farm. It was early October, the season perched towards Indian Summer, the time when visitors made their way to New England in trickles. Travelers don't really make the trek to see fall leaves for fun. Only the middle aged and elderly do that.
Mount Norwottuck could be seen from the tops of her apple tree, a macintosh with branches that grew up. Not all of them did that; some had branches that drooped down, like a weary old man afflicted with osteoporosis. The apples that clung to those drooping boughs failed to get the sun'