(Continued)

After the pain of disappointment the old man remembered how hard it had been to accept that the seed had betrayed him. In as far as he was concerned he had embellished all the love and care on the tree and it had jilted him. He felt spurned, scorned and rejected.

He had a hard decision to take. In the year past, based on how healthy the tree was and the promising bounty fruit, he had marketed his fruit as the best oranges that the village would ever taste. He had drawn allusions from the taste of the orange that had given him the seed and had tantalised fellow villages to salivate over the anticipation of the pending sweet oranges…

Worse still he had seduced the other village patrons not to consider biding for the fruit from the orchard that had produced the orange that had given him the seed. A rivalry had ensued and bets had been taken to see who would produce the best sweet fruit and as he remembered the taste of his product he knew he was a doomed man.

He could not sell the oranges for no one would buy them.

He couldn’t sell the oranges as lemons as they were not shaped and did not appear like lemons.

Sour oranges are not lemons.

He could not give them away for free for then his rival would hear of his failed product.

After a smooth flowing life he suddenly found himself saddled with a great disappointment. Despite fruitfulness he had no happiness. He had produce that he did not want, could not sell and could not give away.

His first dream , effort and pursuit had been shattered. Pain, disappointment , dissipation , disgruntlement and anger welled up. He believed earth and Mother Nature had dealt him an undeserved blow.

He took off the sign, threw it face down and walked away.

The sign read : First grade sweet oranges for sale.

“Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.”

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭7:19‬ ‭NIV‬‬

http://bible.us/111/mat.7.19.niv

To be continued…….

By Phindela's Muses

Phindela’s Muses is the pen name of Nqobile Ncube. After much prodding i reluctantly waded into transferring my thoughts to the electronic notebook. I write as I see. I write as I feel. I write as I hear. I prod the deepest vivid image I can conjure and if at least one person derives some good from it then I am a happy man.

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