Thoreau Eats an Apple

handwriting, is the sauce the wild apple must be eaten with. Indoors, it would seem too harsh, "sour enough to set a squirrel's teeth on edge and make a jay scream." But here in this lapsed pasture strewn with gnarled windfalls, each chunk snaps off as crisp as the day itself so that he seems to be eating an essence of the season, feeding himself on something evanescent and celestial, unobtainable from any store-bought Baldwin or imported Cuban orange.