apples

There is a painting at a local gallery that I dream about. It's of apples on a branch against a blue sky. I've never seen colors like that. Red fades to pink which melts into white which turns into yellow, all against the backdrop of the bluest day any orchard has ever seen. I'd plan a whole room around those colors. Every so often I drop by to see if it has sold. The gallery owner rotates its spot, making space for new paintings by shuffling the old. A few days ago I stopped in. The apples had moved up high on the wall, like the ceiling is the tip top of the tree and the painting is hanging from one of the branches. Maybe no one will notice it there. Maybe I'll win the lottery. Maybe one day I'll walk through those doors and say I'd like to purchase that painting, please. The owner will know exactly which one I mean. The one you come to visit? You mean, you actually want to take it home? Yes, I'll say. He'll wrap the apples in brown paper, covering the colors for a short time, until, like the skin of an apple, I can peel off the paper and hang it on my wall.