I have smelled baked apple...

These last couple of days, as if someone had sprayed an air freshener of that scent about promiscuously, and couldn't figure out the source. It isn't the smell of overripeness but the smell of apple cooked or baked. At last it dawned on me that I am smelling the ripening apples on the tree in the back yard, those still on the tree, those that have fallen to the ground, probably quite literally baking in the sunlight.

Will admit to never having listened to any of Jean Françaix's (very many) works but, following my own implicit advice, am giving his L'Apocalyse selon Saint Jean a go. From Wikipedia (the interior quote is from the Harvard Biographical Dictionary of Music):

One of his oratorios, entitled L'apocalypse selon St. Jean and written in 1939, "employs choral psalmody and full orchestra, with a second instrumental group that included saxophones, accordion, mandolin, and guitar (depicting Hell); the work was performed at the ISCM in Vienna (1932) and Palermo (1949)".

A second instrumental group representing Hell, ha; quite right, at least in the sense that the guitar has dethroned the pipe organ in too many of the churches. Françaix wrote quite a lot of music for the saxophone.