Ripening,
Your bruises show on your skin.
Where wind and birds have scratched
And clawed at you.
But impenetrable until ripe
Your green skin is freckled and dented.
Even squirrels attempted a nibble
But the weight of your plumpness denied their grip,
Instead hurling you to the hard ground.
Collected to be put into a pie,
Cut up or discarded.
Your fate awaits.
Mallaband-Brown 
Paint them. 🙂
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I will if I can find the time, even if its just a tiny painting
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Lovely autumn colours
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I know, its a shame they won’t last forever
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