Chapter 1

An apple is a little red world full of worms that never become butterflies, pricking thorns and no rose, seeds of doubt and other such insidious sins. I dare not crunch a watery bite. I much prefer a peach anyways, what with its tender touch and juicy invitation. Have you ever noticed how much a peach is like a moon with its stone inside? Or even like an oyster hiding it’s pearl? I watch the wind lift the moss of the peach skin and suddenly I picture myself flying as a dove or blowing a dandelion. It is a world too. Then there is the tangerine, that little ray of golden sunshine stretching out all his fingers round his circular body, just waiting to set your tongue on fire or sting it like a bee pollinating a million sunflowers. That little PollyAnna world that is always shiny and happy like the sting is the antidote. Finally, there is one more little world, that is his world, the world I have begun to adore. That is the sweet blackberry world. That hummingbird on a honeysuckle world where everything hums where light fragments into diamonds and fills the night sky with millions of yellow stars and fireflies lots of fireflies that light in my heart and land in our eyes.