I grumbled at my ancient, spotted grapefruit this morning as I cut into it. My bare feet were cold on the kitchen floor and I was expecting the fruit to be dry and white inside. Tasteless. But it wasn’t. It was juicy and full and blood red and flamingo pink, jewel-like as the sky is this morning. It was so unexpected it made me gasp out loud and laugh. All that colour in such a little, shriveled thing, it felt so great, a burst of warmth in my heart. It made me so happy. All these days I’ve walked past that pale, sad fruit dreading opening it. All that time it had been full of light and scarlet and orange just waiting to be let out.
I wonder if grapefruits are like the sky, but opposite in their meaning: pink in the morning, it’s going to be a beautiful day.