Bron yr afal olaf o'r tymor

Bron yr afal olaf o'r tymor ~ Almost the last apple of the season

“The pure taste of the apple is as much a contact with the beauty of the universe as the contemplation of a picture by Cezanne.”
― Simone Weil

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Doedden ni ddim wedi ffeindio'r amser i bigo'r olaf o'r ffrwyth yn yr ardd tan heddiw. Yn anffodus roedd rhai o'r cwins ac afalau wedi cwympo ac roedden nhw orwedd gwasgaredig ac yn pydru ar y ddaear. O leiaf maen nhw'r rhoi eu daioni yn ôl i'r ddaear a'r pryfed.

Felly heddiw gwnaethon ni bigo'r olaf o'r ffrwyth - o leiaf popeth roedden ni'n gallu cyrraedd. Roedd rhai o'r afalau yn tyfu ar ganghennau rhy uchel i ni gyrraedd. Byddan nhw'n cwympo yn y pen draw a bydd rhywun, neu rywbeth, eu bwyta.

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We hadn't found the time to pick the last of the fruit in the garden until today. Unfortunately some of the quinces and apples had fallen and were lying scattered and rotting on the ground. At least they give their goodness back to the earth and the insects.

So today we picked the last of the fruit - at least everything we could get our hands on. Some of the apples were growing on branches too high for us to reach. They will eventually fall and someone, or something, will eat them.

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Disgrifiad (Cymraeg): Llaw yn pigo afal
Description (English): A hand picking an apple

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