Every year on Pearl Harbor Day, I like to tell the story of my late mother, who was picking oranges with her best friend on December 7th, 1941, when they got the news that the Japanese had bombed the US Naval Base in Hawaii.  Every year after, she picked the first orange of the season on this day.  Now that she’s gone, I continue the tradition in her memory.  Today, I salute my favorite winter fruit! 

Oranges are loud.

Oranges are splashy.

They are not subtle.

They are not shy.

They may be as big as softballs,

but they consider themselves

to be miniature stars,

small globes of fire,

a reflection of the solar energy

that generates all life

on this planet.

Made in the image of the sun,

they believe themselves to be

the dominant species

on Planet Earth.


Oranges are joyful.

Oranges live juicy.

They refuse to believe

they are not a primary color.

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