The Case of the Missing Grapes
July 15, 2024 Just the other morning, I had captured a photo of the ripening grapes hanging in bountiful clusters from the vine. Their lush green hue was transforming into a deep, luscious purple, a testament to the approaching harvest. I sent the photograph to the poet who had gifted me the vine a few years ago, eager to share the progress and the beauty of the fruit. The lowest bunch, in particular, caught my eye; it was almost ready for picking, its grapes gleaming with a promise of sweetness. Early this morning, with garden shears in hand, I approached the vine to harvest that very bunch. Anticipation bubbled within me as I imagined the taste of the first grape of the season. But when I reached the vine, I froze. I rubbed my eyes and looked again. The grapes were gone. All that remained were the empty stems. Thinking the grapes might have ripened and fallen to the ground, I looked down to check. Their skins were scattered beneath the vine. Someone must have eaten them just there un...