My son the gourmet decided to pick a prickly pear from the cactus growing in our yard.
| 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.
And so, properly attired and most respectful, my son exposed the fruit inside, and we all tasted, mindful of the spines that wanted to cling to the slices.“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.
Heroes unmasked.
Thank you. I love this post in so many ways.
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