Fruit Rats

The orange grove is ancient, twisted. Trees bend and bow beneath the weight of vines and slow rotting fruit in the fetid heat, dropping their unwanted bounty into the weeds where the rats stir.

They remember when the food was plentiful, when the fruit reflected back an orange kaleidoscope in their darkling eyes. Now, there is lean hunger and scabbed flesh, but from the edge of their decaying field they can see the lights of porches, houses, all beckoning with plenty.

The fruit of these groves will be different and might squeal as they slip in through the open windows with sharp teeth and hunger, but at least it will be a time of full bellies and soft, sleek grey fur again. New flavors are waiting, just across the road and tiny claws scratch at the dry earth, waiting for the right second, for the signal to move forward.

~Kristen Gilpin 4.7.15

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