The original forbidden fruit, at home with Eve and wicked queens, Aphrodite, and writers looking to sink their teeth into something.  It is the promise of knowledge, desires slaked, immortality, and a full belly.  And yet so unassuming.

What is it about this small lumpy fruit like the one perched on a stack of books at your desk, streaked with gold and red stripes, a fat nub sticking out of its top, that makes the world run mad after it?  It is sweet, yes, and pleasant to bite into, with the satisfying crunch and smack of the lips as you make your way to its core. 

But even now, as you stare at its hour-glass form--its full body a faint memory of teeth marks along its edges--you wonder at its ability to tempt us, to seduce us into grasping for things beyond our private Edens.  And wonder still if it is wise to submit to that temptation, to look beyond this oasis of books and words and a delicious view of a tree in its autumnal glory outside your window. 

You realize it then, what power the apple holds: wonder.  The ability to make us want and wonder and dream beyond our own havens, to taste a little bit of life just outside your doorstep.

So, go ahead, you tell yourself as you turn from your words for the day.  Be tempted.