Stolen Fruit

I live in Arizona now. I live in Arizona now.
Part of growing into this realization has included exploratory ventures around the state, around town, and around my new homestead (our property's lot here backs up to a national forest!) A few days ago I came across what appears to be a perpetual fruit stand. How couldn't I visit? (Easily, to be certain, but just not that day, as my weary-from-adjusting body and accompanying sore throat hijacked my ability to drive for a subconscious quest for vitamin C. Maybe I should have packed supplements, after all.)
They had home-grown-and-mixed spices, plums, peaches, cucumbers and nectarines. What are nectarines, exactly? Whatever they are, they looked lovely and vibrant. New times call for new fruits. A few dollars' exchange later I was on my way, enjoying one of my new treats and an open afternoon to find more furnishings to make my new place more home-y.
The girls want to make cookies this week, so some mixing bowls were on the list. No sooner did I return than I washed the fruit and pyramided it ever so delicately (sturdiest on bottom, bruised on top) in one of my new glass bowls. I set them on the craft drawer, which also doubles as a stand for my cork board until I figure out where it will serve most useful. (A sight to behold, and lovely deep red and orange personal reminder to savor the fruit God puts in my life.)
After an impromptu survey last week, I also learned that the girls have interest in learning more about the Fruit of the Spirit, a topic we'll pursue in the coming weeks with our hearts and evening devotion times.
That night, I had my door open as part of an ongoing invitation for the girls to drop by any time they like. One did just that, needing to borrow something. We went to the other room to find some, and when I returned, I noticed the nectarine structure's capstone had disappeared.
I know enough about nectarines to know they don't possess any sense of wanderlust, let alone physical mechanism for motion. I hoped it satisfied someone. Only soon after I realized that had someone asked, they could have had even better fruit; one not so bruised-up. I don't know how or by what assistance the nectarine managed this sort of relocation, but the thought of it left an impression in my mind:

This is the fruit I have given you to share from my abundance.

It was God's to begin with, and remains His; I get to serve its conduit to hungry tummies.

Just yesterday, a couple of my girls asked if they could have one.