Watermelons cannot panic. This separates watermelon from human, and from you particularly. It can't be simpler. The vine lengthens and spreads, roaming the earth at a casual pace. The sun's churning energy charmingly begets fuel for the plant. You too, if you pay attention. Requirements of production vis-à-vis watermelon fruit redeem as impoundments of rainwater and care. We all are rich with slightly sweet juice. Life goes forth whether gainsaid or not. The watermelon seems modest but the orb knows better. It reaches in so many ways from that point in time and space. The rationale of growth fills your market eye adorably, providing the lattice of time with purpose. The scurry of little human feet transacts the day, and years beyond, with slinky and sold patterns. So many years, so many products to provide. A person rich in fruit turns to whatever gains the day. Watermelons treat their young like time enhanced by time. They survive as the idea of one. The one declares the ribboning future of being right there, included. Cartons fill up cartons in our glittery world. Don’t forget to turn to the sun.
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