Mangoes.
Fallen.
FAT from juice.
Too heavy for the branch.
Too late for the picker.
But not too late for my noticing.
And celebration of it.
And now, yours.
Nothing wasted.
Sometimes I play hopscotch over splattered mangoes walking these streets! If you like quirky, contemplative, always-real content, follow me!
Brought to you by SativaYoga -- restorative media, for ungovernable minds. Dig it? Resteem it. Support it.