Autumn Harvest

The intermittent chopping of the fruits ceased as soon as I went into the kitchen. I saw an appealing platter of fruits arrayed invitingly. From raspberries to passion fruit, the rich, round fruits were scattered tastefully. A splash of carnal pink across the muted shades of pastel green instantly stirred my appetite. The fragrance of strawberries wafted me to my southern home, to my childhood frolics in peach orchids. I quickly plopped a lush raspberry in my mouth and devoured it slowly. Its fresh juice teased my tongue with hints of mellow sweetness. The velvety taste urged me to take another sweet bite.

I picked a blackberry this time, its bold hues laden with royal purple. The sour flavor deadened my taste buds. However, just like the devil’s whisper, it compelled me to eat another one of the raw berries. After feeling repentant for my numb tongue for the hundredth time, I moved on to try other fruits I had never seen before. Each was an exotic flavor, some like the summer sweetness and some unexpectedly acrid. With a sweet craving still instilling in my mind, every taste, instantaneous and fleeting, caused my heart to dilate joyously or contract in remembered grief. The platter was a wholesome delight, celebrating the plentiful harvest of the august autumn.