Oranges are not the only fruit

by AC French

Underneath limes hanging motionless
against leaves and sky,
my eyes play;
mind unable to recall a time
when it was so struck by a moment.

The patchwork above
that could have so easily been missed;
translucent blue spaces
outlined in dark green leaves
and ripe fruit.

Seemingly laden with zest
the warm air holds my imagination as my eyes flop closed.

I drift away.

Swinging now in breeze
between the leaves
my skin hardened by sun;
no eyes to see but looking down
up and around-
enjoying my simple existence.

While feeling my juices develop
feet land on me;
padding
looking for imperfections in my perfect form;
sniffing, examining-
I feel the beast studying me before it takes its leave.


Breeze moves around me more strongly
rocking in time with the gusts;

I drift away.

Water begins to cover me in splits and splats-
eyes reopening to leave everything moving against the gloom
and the patchwork gone-