A woman picks fruit

The wind sluiced around the orchard, swinging the trees here and there in a pattern of swirls. A succession of varieties of plums, apples, pears, beans, kiwi, mulberry; all thriving in a design ensuring the diversity and continuity of the food supply. The designs and the thinking had proliferated through the towns, bearing abundance not only in sustenance but in a deep pride of stewardship.

The principles that guided these designs were as much based on love as they were in science. A thousand animal varieties flourished there too, feeding the cyclical turn of an ecosystem made resistant and blossoming. Yields were so great, and the supply so reliable, that the animal neighbours had long since ceased being viewed as threats but rather as collaborators who could never take their fill of what was truly deserved for their labour.

Passing under the swaying boughs, she wandered through the orchard, humming softly. The woman would often play a game with herself to count the number of different species encountered, but would lose interest after a short time. She would turn instead to acknowledging them by name, providing charitable encouragement and advice.

A large bright blue beetle glittered in the light, catching her eye. It advanced towards a fallen pear on the damp ground. “Nearly there, friend” she said softly, watching it draw closer to the fruit. To save it the effort, she trod on the pear, splitting it wide open, spreading sweet pulp across the grass. She walked on as the beetle moved in to take its tiny fill of the pear, and continued to softly hum a melody she had learned from those who had made her and all the others custodians of nature.