Talking to Oranges
Sometimes when I go grocery shopping, I like to buy oranges. Oranges are so sweet and juicy when ripe, and have their own protective skin like an organic Ziploc baggie. They don't squish as easily as bananas, and are pre-divided into sharable sections
They sit in big piles at the Produce section. All of them look the same. Sometimes people buy the wrong oranges and they are dry instead of juicy, or flavorless instead of sweet. I like to ask the oranges when they are ready for eating. I buy some for today, I buy some for tomorrow, and I buy some for later. Oranges like to talk. They get excited when they are close to peak ripeness, and sad when they are over the hill but have not been bought and eaten. Or just eaten. Being bought does not really matter so much.
Sometimes the old oranges are sad when I talk to them. They should have been eaten several days ago, and are just wishing for the outdoors now, but instead they will be thrown in the trash, or purchased by an inexperienced shopper and eaten but not enjoyed. What a sad ending?
When the old oranges talk about sleeping in the soft earth and becoming one with the world again, it makes me sad on the inside. So sometimes I buy them anyway, along with the young, easily excitable oranges for eating, and take them home. The old oranges sit separate from the young ones, who fight to be the first consumed. Then late at night, when the world is sleeping, I take the old oranges outside and lay them to rest in the soft earth, back where they belong, and they whisper "Thank you" to me before they stop talking forever
Talking to oranges reminds me that we all have a purpose in life, and it is a sad time when you lose that purpose
They sit in big piles at the Produce section. All of them look the same. Sometimes people buy the wrong oranges and they are dry instead of juicy, or flavorless instead of sweet. I like to ask the oranges when they are ready for eating. I buy some for today, I buy some for tomorrow, and I buy some for later. Oranges like to talk. They get excited when they are close to peak ripeness, and sad when they are over the hill but have not been bought and eaten. Or just eaten. Being bought does not really matter so much.
Sometimes the old oranges are sad when I talk to them. They should have been eaten several days ago, and are just wishing for the outdoors now, but instead they will be thrown in the trash, or purchased by an inexperienced shopper and eaten but not enjoyed. What a sad ending?
When the old oranges talk about sleeping in the soft earth and becoming one with the world again, it makes me sad on the inside. So sometimes I buy them anyway, along with the young, easily excitable oranges for eating, and take them home. The old oranges sit separate from the young ones, who fight to be the first consumed. Then late at night, when the world is sleeping, I take the old oranges outside and lay them to rest in the soft earth, back where they belong, and they whisper "Thank you" to me before they stop talking forever
Talking to oranges reminds me that we all have a purpose in life, and it is a sad time when you lose that purpose