|He knew inside the I-dare-you-to-touch-me globe was sweetness.|
They stood at the ready like soldiers with lances.
Bristled and brave.
“Do not trifle with us,” they seemed to say. “We are warriors. We stand our ground. You are doomed.”
But it was obvious a squirrel or rabbit or coyote had found a way – without gloves – to empty the prickly pears of their treasure.
“Kiwi,” we said. With a hint of melon.”
A delicate taste, subtle and squishy.
Outside a warrior, inside a tender-heart, life-giving and sweet, as so many outwardly stoic souls are.