In our writing class, our exercise was to write about fruit, clouds, or trees that could talk.
"You don't like being called young and low-growing fruit, do you?" Virginia Strawberry asks her daughter June Strawberry.
"You don't like being called young and low-growing fruit, do you?" Virginia Strawberry asked her daughter June Strawberry.
"No, I don't. I wish I were tall like Pedro Pop Corn growing two rows down. He is the tallest of my corn friends, and everyone thinks he should be King Corn. His corn is the healthiest and was the first to turn golden this year."
"Pick your head up, June," said Melvin Mosquito, who landed on a nearby strawberry leaf. "Your mother is right. Don't be sad. You know you can get bruised and even die young if you don't allow enough sun to reach your roots. Besides, your fruity flavor will soon help gardener Sylvie make a delicious pie."
"I have a long way to grow before that," said June, looking over her triangular, light green shape that had turned different shades of pale pink in some areas as of that morning.
Melvin Mosquito rubbed his forelimbs together to clean his smell receptors; he wanted to smell June's sweetness better. He touched her somewhat hairy stem and found it odd compared to other plants, like Smooth Sumac.
"Don't be so quick to mature," he said. "Enjoy the stages as they come. In time you will get your red coat like the others. Ripening too quickly can cause you to mold and mush. And you don't want this to happen, or the gardener will leave you to rot. Even so, this won't be a bad thing, you know. Compost is black gold, experts say."
June's flesh warmed from the sun's heat, but the moist soil cooled her down. At that moment, Gardener Sylvie sprinkled water from the hose over June's roots.
"Ahhh," June said out loud. "That feels good." The gardener could not hear her, however.
"All you needed was a good talking to and a little love," said Melvin Mosquito hovering above the gardener, waiting to land on her arm for dinner.
Gardener Sylvie sat next to June in the strawberry patch and gathered many of June's ripe strawberry friends into a basket for jelly. The gardener whispers in her ear, "You can do this, little June. You can grow into a big and beautiful strawberry like the others. I love you."
"Goodbye, June," June's mother said just before the gardener picked her up. "I believe in you. Stand strong!"
June held the stem of her mother as she left. I will make you proud, mom. The day is magnificent, and I will not let the day, or myself, go to waste. Goodbye!
At that moment, June lifted her head high and felt her mother's words carry through from her stem to her roots. "Strawberry Strong!" she yelled out. And all strawberries everywhere, including the wild ones, yelled in unison, "Strawberry Strong!"
