In late winter, miniature yellow-white buds appear in clusters between the
smooth, broad leaves of our avocado tree. After the flowers drop, tiny
green oval shaped fruits are left behind. When mature, the fruit cradles
comfortably in the palm of one hand. Disbelievers are stunned to find
greenish-gold flesh beneath its smooth, sun-purpled skin, expecting the
release of a plum’s sweet nectar. Neither Florida nor Hass, this petite
avocado defied identification until one day, a Hispanic landscaper hailed
the fruit as “Mexican” and, gnawing an avocado in one hand, mimed a
shot of Tequila with the other.
Prompt: Unknown