The Apple Morning

October eighteenth. The market runs along four blocks on Saturday mornings, and I've walked it enough times that I have habits inside it, which stall I hit first, which one I skip if the line is long, where I tend to stop and stand still for longer than makes sense.

This morning felt different from the usual pace. I went early, before the crowd filled in, and the cold was the kind that's still a surprise, you dress for fall and then find out it's decided to be actual fall. The whole block smelled like apples and something faintly smoky from a coffee cart two stalls down, and I stood near the produce table long enough that the vendor probably thought I was making a very difficult decision about a butternut squash. I was mostly just standing.

mid-deliberation over gourds

I've been thinking a lot this month about decisions and tabs-closed and what you know before you admit you know it, the food photography class starts Tuesday and I keep having this low hum of something that is either nerves or just the particular alertness that comes before you do something new. The market was a good place for that feeling. Nobody needs you to explain anything. You can just be someone carrying a tote bag and looking at gourds.

the satisfying part, bag packed, decision made

I bought apples. A small paper bag of them, the tart kind. Walked home the long way. The morning held up the whole day after that in the way that certain mornings do, like they quietly set the key for everything that comes next.