The apple fell from the almost bare tree. It crashed to the ground with a low thud, awakening the many insects and critters living amongst the blades of grass.
The rosy red of the apple had long since faded and it now sat a dismal yellow colour. A small robin flew down to this new object and came to a halt at its side.
It inspected the apple, his curiosity peeked, and his small stomach growling with hunger.
The apple was destroyed with an infestation of worms and the robin watched as they weaved in and out of the shallow tunnels they had dug through the rotten fruit.
He ignored his hunger and sat for hours, merely watching the small worms feast on the sweet apple. As the sun set, the small robin said goodbye to his odd companions and flew home to his nest.
The moon rose and with it, a plethora of nocturnal animals came out to play. Foxes shrieked in the distance and the song of an owl whistled through the wind.
But still, the apple sat on the grass, most of its flesh devoured by the worms, and simply watched as the world passed it by.