“In September the cooking apples abroad on the trees beside the haggard would be bursting with ripeness and only barely clinging to the branch. Some would have turned to rot on the tree; more would have fallen to the earth – the barest puff of a breeze would dislodge a big fat cooking apple in September. You had to be quick to get to the windfalls before the scavenging insects.You’d pick one up thinking it to be good and turn it to see the other side was brown mush moving with worms and you’d fling it from you in disgust.  You had to twist each apple off gently; otherwise no bud would reappear on that spot the next year. Only thick ignoramuses yanks apples off of trees, Mother always said. Like Uncle Frank – you couldn’t let that fella out to fill a bag for Theresa or you’d have nare a cooking apple of your own to bake a tart again. He’d wreck all before him, that fella. He didn’t fit with nature.”

Donal Ryan – The thing about December