One day I was walking down a country path when suddenly, "plop"; right in front of me fell a bright, red, apple. "Well," I thought, "it's hardly time for apples to be falling from trees, so it must be someone up to some mischief!" I looked up and scanned the branches but saw no one. "Kids," I mumbled, and continued down the path.

I'd pretty much forgotten the incident when the very next day, again a bright red apple fell suddenly from the sky and landed at my feet. Okay, so this kid must have really bad aim, because he doesn't actually manage to hit me, but he sure comes close.

"Hey!" I shouted, hoping for some reaction from somewhere. Some hint of where the apple came from, but nothing.

The next day, sure enough, another apple. Well this time I picked it up, examined it, and gave it a good cleaning on my shirt before taking a long luxurious bite. "Thanks!" I yelled into the trees, holding the apple up in the air, and then I continued on my way.

This pattern continued for days, and after a while, I began to count on those apples for my afternoon snack. They never hit me, just landed near me. Moreover, they were always nearly perfect, even after having been thrown from some unknown place.

Then, as suddenly as the apple ritual had begun, it stopped. One day no apple. I felt like I lost a friend. I scanned the branches but never saw anyone. "I hope you are okay!" I shouted, wanting my apple friend to know I cared. Weeks passed and still no apple.

September came warm and sweet. Scents of ripe fruits and flowers filled the air. Warm breezes during the day were equally as pleasant as the cool breezes at night. The leaves were only just beginning to change colors. Undoubtedly my favorite time of year. As I walked down the lane, as was my daily habit, I gently kicked some of the early fall leaves when I noticed a whole bushel of apples sitting at the side of the path. There was a note on top that simply read, "I'm okay." Warmth rushed through me that likened itself to a taste of good brandy.

I sat next to the bushel and picked up just one of the apples. I cleaned it on my shirt and held it up. "Would you like to share this with me?" I offered, hoping my friend would finally make himself known. But, alas, I ate the apple alone. I left the bushel there. I had no use for so many apples, though I did appreciate the gesture.

The next day the bushel was gone. A note, however, remained. This time it read: "Meet me." I was truly intrigued. What would I find the next day? I could barely wait for the twenty-four hours to pass. Finally, the time for my afternoon walk came and I found another note. It read: "This time tomorrow. You know where."

"What?" I asked aloud looking around in the trees. "How would I know where?" Irritated, I maintained my course mulling over the note. "Where?" I asked myself. "Where would I know? This just makes no sense at all." However, I was intrigued and more than just a little flattered. Whoever left the note believed I would be able to decipher it, and assumed a certain level of understanding, even connection, on my part. I would figure it out, I decided. So, I slept with the note under my pillow and while I drifted off, I considered the possibilities. "Where?" I wondered, "Will we meet?"

The next morning I knew! I would go to "Adam's Apples", the orchard, of course. It seemed just too obvious now. How could I have ever not known that's where we would meet?

I arrived at the time I usually took my walk. The size of the orchard was daunting, but I was confident I would find my friend. I wandered rather aimlessly up and down the rows of trees. Macintosh, Golden Delicious, Red Delicious, Jonathon and Fuji. So many varieties, so many choices, yet only one thing was on my mind, finding my friend.

I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. I turned to face him. He was tall, dark and handsome. What a cliché, I know, but that's what he was. Deep rich brown hair, dark eyes, tan skin, and at least six inches taller than me.

"Are you…?" I began to ask, but the question didn't need to be finished. He smiled and nodded.

He slipped his hand into mine and I didn't object. I had a million questions to ask but soon realized there was something different, unique about him. He didn't speak. No matter how many questions I asked, I would not get a verbal response.

"What's your name?"

He spelled it out in my hand, writing each letter as I confirmed them with my voice. "A-d-a-m. Adam?"

He smiled and nodded.

"I'm Eve," I grinned. The whole scenario was so ridiculous it was delightful.

He pulled out an apple, Red Delicious, and handed it to me. I cleaned it on my shirt and took a bite, a long luxurious bite, and then offered it to him. Keeping his eyes locked with mine he licked the juices from the apple before sinking his teeth into its white flesh. I never knew an apple could be such a sensual thing.

He led me to a gently sloped hill at the back of the orchard. No one was there. We lay down on the grass together and studied each other's souls. Irresistibly, I reached up and traced the edge of his face with my fingers. Some things are just meant to be. That was the first time my husband and I made love. Shortly after that day, he renamed his orchard "Eden."