Perfect warm sunny October afternoon. Standing in the middle of an apple orchard, washing down a perfect, crisp, tart, fresh from the tree apple (Macoun, thank you very much) with a cold sip of transcendent sweet cider. The foliage on the hills around the orchard as close to peak as makes no difference.
That’s why I live in New England.
An almost perfect moment? Opinions differ. I maintain it’s as close to perfect as one is likely to get in this life. The Kid argues that the moment fell short of perfection because the cider donut machine at the orchard shop was out of commission on this particular afternoon. For me, in my quest to avoid temptation, the lack of hot sugary cider donuts was an asset rather than a liability (I have no problem wrestling with angels, but the grappling does tend to ruin otherwise blissful moments), proving once again that Paradise is a highly subjective condition.
October 21, 2008 at 5:52 pm |
MMMMMMM apple picking. You are right it doesn’t get closer to perfection than picking apples on a crisp fall morning as the leaves are starting to show their colors.