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Picking the last of the grapefruit in Vincent's yard

Yellow skins stretch thin around the sweet swollen fruit, fattened and furtive amid thick clusters of leaves, full of juice and tugging the top unreachable limbs. I pull a branch down, rummage through a clump of green, and pluck one perfect gold gem. Careful of delicate blooms, one after another my sap-stained fingers seek the last of this year's yield. Searching each limb slowly, deliberately, my hands deftly learning the art of reaping, I see the cycle begin again, feel the spring sun warm new buds open, and listen as bees, boldened by the citrus scent, hum their pollen song into pearl-white petals that hold the heart of next year's treasure.

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