Dear pears, in Dear coffee

You don’t feel like ripe pears, but Flower says she had one of you at lunch and you were definitely ready to be eaten. I took two apples from the box, as well, even though I don’t particularly care for apples.

There are figs hanging on a tree that I walk by each day on my way home from work. I walk by them when I’m going -to- work as well, but for some reason I don’t notice them then. I only seem to see them when I’m on my way back. I’ve been eyeing them; I watched them turn from tear-shaped lumps of green to plump and fleshy fruit. One of them had split open today, revealing the soft papilla-like insides hiding beneath the dark purple peel.

I have a few in the fridge. No, I didn’t steal them, I bought them at the store. The figs on the tree aren’t mind to talk. I don’t even feel badly that they aren’t being eaten. I’m sure some insects or birds could enjoy them (providing the fig tree hasn’t been bathed in pesticide.) Even if they rot off of the springy twigs they’re attached to, I don’t feel any sadness. They’ll return to the earth and help to give it nutrients.

…And even if they don’t, then they just don’t. That’s okay, too.