The aged apple tree stretched toward the heavens with its thin, finger-like branches. It grew on the forest’s edge surrounded by pine, oak and hemlocks.

It grew in spite of its conditions, quite obviously a happenstance, a surprise to its forest shadows.

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I watched this tree throughout the seasons — its burst of fresh green in the spring, blossoms like delicate voile against the rough and aged bark. Summer delivered apples red embellishing the forest’s edge with ornamental color and fed the deer grazing below.

And now, as autumn has its last hoorah before winter’s chill, my eye saw something new …