The Tomato Epic

A month after the morning frost subsided, the tomato plants found themselves in their new home: my backyard. The ground and location were ideal–I think. I imagined a plethora of ripe tomatoes in no time.

Buds bloomed, flowers died, but one produced a tomato.

It started off tiny and green. I visited every other day and watched it from the window. It was beautiful.

I imagined what I would do with that tomato. For my first, I had to prepare it in a special way. Perhaps dabbed with ranch or mayonnaise. Perhaps lightly salted or coupled with mozzerella cheese and olive oil. Regardless, it would be delightful.

A month came and went. The tiny fruit grew larger. Then it turned yellow, orange, and finally red.

Yesterday, everyone admired it from inside. I said I would pick it tomorrow. Then I would enjoy the one and only tomato that my plants produced.

This morning, I hurried outside to see the tomato. The luscious, red skin stood out against the white fence and green leaves. I took in the beauty of the tomato. Then I realized something was wrong.

Black holes marred the far side of the skin. They penetrated deep within the tiny fruit, too deep for me to enjoy. I sadly plucked the tomato and placed it in the garbage.

I will not enjoy my tomato today. Maybe next year…


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