I just sat on my balcony in the lap of new spring warmth and ate the juiciest, sweetest apple I've ever had.
It was a I-see-why-Gwyneth-Paltrow-named-her-child-this apple.
It was a bless-the-hand-that-picked-this apple.
It was a I-don't-care-if-I'm-eating-pesticides apple.
It was a Snow-White-could've-died-happy apple.
It was a Johnny-Appleseed-plant-the-whole-nation-with-apple-trees apple.
It was a need-a-paper-towel-juice-drip apple.
It was a keep-the-doctor-away apple.
It was a lock-up-my-jaw-to-bite-it apple.
It was a whole-thing-down-to-the-core apple.
It was a don't-bother-to-slice-it apple.
It was a don't-need-caramel apple.
It was a Fuji apple.
Here's some info for you, folks: Fuji apples are the best things in the world. I would like to worship Fuji apples. Quick, where's an altar? I need to put this apple core on there and light candles around it.