And then there is that day when all around,<br />all around you hear the dropping of the apples, one<br />by one, from the trees. At first it is one here and one there,<br />and then it is three and then it is four and then nine and<br />twenty, until the apples plummet like rain, fall like horse hoofs <br />in the soft, darkening grass, and you are the last apple on the<br />tree; and you wait for the wind to work you slowly free from <br />your hold upon the sky, and drop you down and down. Long <br />before you hit the grass you will have forgotten there ever <br />was a tree, or other apples, or a summer, or green grass below,<br />You will fall in darkness...