One Small Slice

As a blogger and amateur photographer, I have a unique personal filter. I'm always looking for that next photograph or that next subject about which to write.

The funny thing is that I don't even do it consciously anymore.

This morning I was humbled by apples.

I've been in one of my book-devouring moods lately, finishing 3 books in the last week. This morning, on the elliptical and treadmill at the gym, I was reading a young adult book about the Holocaust called Yellow Star. That grim period in history has produced so many amazing stories.

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An old woman recounts her childhood experiences in a Polish ghetto to her niece. Food is scarce. Most meals consist of watery vegetable soup and weak coffee.

As the ghetto empties due to mass transports to the concentration camps, those who remain are able to eat slightly better.

One day the girl's father brings an apple to a group of children hiding in a cellar. He divides it up among the wide-eyed boys and girls and gives each of them one...small...slice.

It is a treasure.

It is a luxury.

It is a reminder of the way things were and a hopeful sign of the future.

One small slice.

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After the gym it was time to buy groceries. At the top of the list I wrote out last night was "apples."

I live in Washington State, the Mecca of apples. Their quality is unsurpassed and their quantity abundant.

Looking down the rows and rows of apples at the store I almost felt shame at the cornucopia of colors and choices.  Our favorite is the organic Fuji.

At home I sliced one up to include in my daily breakfast smoothie. I've made it a habit to haphazardly pop the first slice into my mouth because it's common knowledge the first slice always tastes the best.

But this time I was very aware that in a certain circumstance, something as simple as apples can be a gift. So I held that piece in my mouth a little longer, chewed it a little slower, and savored its sweetness a little more.

Then, I felt gratitude for that one small slice.