Our reward for a hard day of snorkeling and burning our skin in the sun was fresh soursop. On our way out in the morning we passed by the soursop tree and saw that the rain had knocked down a few ripe ones. I picked one up and broke it open. Most of it was already mushy and buggy but part of it looked ok to eat. Micaela and I each took a bite. It was delicious, juicy and sweet and tangy. As we walked down to the beach we wished we were still eating soursop. The taste was on our minds all afternoon and we knew as soon as we got back we'd head straight for the same tree.
Salty and itchy and burning, we examined what was on the ground first. It was all too soft and gross already. Then we looked up into the tree. I rested my hand on a branch and a softball-sized soursop just popped off and fell at my feet. It was perfect except for the small gash the fall gave it. Eyeing a larger fruit higher up, I felt around the trunk of the tree for a handhold. Before I realized it, another perfectly ripe soursop detached istelf directly into my hand. It was the same size as the first, just right for one person, so I left the big one on the tree to ripen some more and we headed down to the screenhouse with our spiky treats.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment