My Poor Fig

A few years ago, that guy that I like so much planted me a fig tree.

I have this thing for figs and fall into the camp of 'hate them or love them.'

Hate when I don't have them, love them when I do.

=0)

The first season, my lovely tree produced quite a few figs and then last year?

Not a one.

But I was patient and spoke kindly to it all the time in the backyard and lo and behold, ONE FIG began to grow this year.

And so today when I went outside to eat my PB&J in my pretty little garden, the first thing I did was to walk over and say, "Hullo, Figgy."

But the fig was no where to be found on the tree and when I looked down, I saw it laying there in the dirt.

My poor, poor fig.

The winds must've been responsible. Big, bad, horrible and naughty winds that I actually didn't think were bad or horrible or naughty because I was safe and sound inside my little house watching movies in front of my fireplace.

But my fig?

My fig was too little and the winds blew it away.

It is a sad day in our house.

A sad day indeed.