Å, å være et epletre

Locate a local apple tree. Visit it daily through the summer months. Note how the bud slowly puffs itself up into appleshape. See how it slowly takes a breath. The weeks roll by until its own increasing weight finally forces the fruit to fall. You will find it on the ground, all ready to eat. This whole process is utterly dependable; has a beginning, a middle and an end. But I am not satisfied. Far from it. Plain baffled is what I am. All sorts of questions remain unanswered. Such as … who taught the tree its apple-conjuring? And … where does the fruit’s flavour come from?
[…]
O, how wonderful to be an apple tree — to know one’s place in the world. To be both fixed and fruitful. To know what one is about.
—Mick Jackson (The Underground Man)

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