The Smell of Apple Pie

The passing of autumn has left barren trees and heaps of crisp, brown leaves on the moist ground.   The sky wears shades of gray and produces rainy, wet days.  Squawking geese soar south and mother’s begin to search for warm clothes to bundle the children.  Park benches are glazed with frost and your breath comes out in puffs of dragon fire.  This is when you know that winter is on its way.   As November slips away and Thanksgiving comes near, the business of life snatches up all of our time to enjoy the last length of autumn.   Before Thanksgiving even has a chance to happen, malls and shopping centers, even homes are primed for Christmas.  Only a few rotting pumpkins sit on doorsteps.  Scarecrows shiver in the dark yard.

Although the cloudiness of winter creeps upon us, the celebration of Thanksgiving once again shines.  Families gather around the table and admire the turkey.  Cousins play and giggle.  But I enjoy the smell of apple pie.  Grandma sits in a dining room chair peeling apples.  The sweet strips of red, golden, and green apple peel gather in the silver bowl in her lap.  Her crust is almost buttery and flaky.  The apples are always dressed with sugared cinnamon and a large bowl and then piled into the pie crust neatly pinched to the pie plate.  I have observed this process every Thanksgiving, and in my opinion, the pie get’s tastier every time.   Grandma will soon bake it and the scent will drift into the room where I am typing.  tomorrow the whole family will enjoy the taste of Grandma’s pumpkin pie, apple pie, banana cream pie, cakes, and cookies.  Turkey will be the main food on everyone’s plate, but I will not forget to slice myself a piece of apple pie.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING READERS!

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