The Tale of The Ripe Orange
March 25th, 2007
A ripe, heavy orange was tired of hanging on the branch.
“When will I fall?” he wondered. “I’m heavy with juice, I’ve been waiting so long. And I must be such a burden to this branch.”
“I’m stronger than you think,” said the orange tree branch, “And I don’t mind your weight. What’s more, do you think you’re the only orange here waiting to fall? Look around.”
The orange didn’t want to at first. Curious, he finally did as the branch asked. And he saw for the first time all his brothers and sisters, some small & new and pale, some a rich dark vermillion, swollen just as he was.
They greeted him in all their varied tongues and colors and shapes. The sight made him giddy with love to his very seeds.
“Now I don’t want to fall,” said the orange, “I want to stay here with all of you. I see myself in you and feel less lonely.”
And the orange felt some of his ripened, stored-up juice well up and drop as tears. Just then a gust shook the tree, but the orange did not fall — he was saved by having wept, his heaviness reduced by just enough to keep him attached to the branch.
And so the orange got his wish, and stayed on the tree for another season, and spent happy hours in the company of the other oranges, watching them fall and watching them bud and grow anew, so that when it was his time, he dropped with the fullness of life in him, & with a readiness for the soil below, the soft soil patiently waiting like a pair of cupped hands.
