Juice

Rian has one strawberry plant. It lives in a strawberry pot along with a fern and some pansies and a few cradles of moss, yes? It must be in The Perfect Spot, because every year it grows and grows and blossoms and fruits.

Every year Rian watches the handful of berries begin and fatten. Every year Rian thinks: Mine! And every year Rian loses them to the birds, or the squirrels, or the sneaky Leaf Neighbor.

This year - ah, bliss! Rian watches a single berry mature. Every morning on the way out the door, minute glances. Mine! followed by Patience! Tis not yet ripe!

Rian did not truly expect to beat the birds, for they have a Sense of things.

Yet, this morning, before full light, as Rian staggered out in search of the newspaper...

Rian's own Sense went off. Mine!

And it was. Sweet and fat and bursting between Rian's teeth. The taste of Summer enjoyed on a chilling near Fall morning. Perfection in a tiny red offering.

Mine.