Robert Frost's Apples

I've been hoping I'd have some experience up here that would relate to nonfiction somehow, but nothing has cropped up. So I'll just give you a slice of Bread Loaf life, as seen through the exceedingly subjective lens of one Thomas Allen Jason Beitelman.

Today it's cold and extremely windy. Yesterday it was hot(ish) and everybody went to Robert Frost's farmhouse just down the road. Frost was instrumental in the start of the conference. And he was, like, a writer or something. So to commemorate the occasion, I took a couple of apples that had fallen from some apple trees on his property. They're kind of wormy but they smell great. Just like an apple. These apples smell almost too much like an apple.

At this moment, they are part of a little impromptu sculpture sitting on the bedside table in my room. I also pulled some rocks from a very cold stream when I went on a hike the other day, and they too are part of the sculpture. They're arranged, these apples and stones, in an order I can't explain. The order isn't even especially artful. But it is an arrangement, and I like to look at how the objects go together. This all makes me think of lyric essays, which we'll start to talk about when I get back.

Anyway, now I don't know what to do with these apples. That's where you come in. Respond to the poll to the right before the close of business on Friday. Seriously. How else am I going to be able to make this momentous decision?