WARNING: THIS PRAXIS CONTAINS FRUCTARIAN VIOLENCE, AND MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR ALL VIEWERS. The young and those of delicate constitution should scroll down to Part 2.

I was walking in Discovery Meadow with a friend (who shall be reffered to here as July 4th) when we heard the squishy, very quiet sound of fruit at war. We cautiously followed extremely soft din, and saw a battle between a brave band of grapes and the Cherry Empire.



The grapes were attempting to break the cherry's defensive line. The cherries had cannon and fortified walls, but the eggplant siege engine technology developed by the grapes were strong against both.



Some of the troops were engaging in fruit-to-fruit combat, with losses on both sides. Here a cherry defeated a grape, but later succumbed to the wounds it suffered.



We asked after the source of the conflict. It seemed the cherries had abducted both a creche of grape infants and the ancestral stems.



Why the cherries had committed this abhorrent act we could not determine. We were allowed to view the battle from the high tower of the cherry king and queen, who oversaw their troops, but they did not deign to answer our questions.



The cherry army has long held dominion over the carrots, who serve them as cannon and fortification. Their effectiveness is proved in this gory scene.



Fortunately, the eggplant siege engine is proof against any threat.



Let me amend that; almost any threat. A cunningly thrown tomato grenade killed these engineers and overturned their engine. The cherry infantry can then move in and safely pick off the survivors.



But their triumph was short-lived. Immediately after the engine was overturned, another grenade went off by accident, killing or wounding most of the squadron. This left them vulnerable to the frenzied grape footsoldiers. Driven mad by grief and anger, not knowing what kind of treatment their tender young orbs and beloved ancestral stems had suffered at the hands of the cherry forces, the grapes were driven to terrible acts of savagery. In the lower left of the picture you can see that one such grape has torn off a cherry soldier's antenna.



As we left the fructose-soaked field, we saw a robin, its beak red with gore, carry off a fallen cherry. War is truly hell.

PART 2: This is a much gentler part, concerned only with the beauty of nature, and can be safely viewed by persons of delicate constitution.

The Red Mantled Califoria Turquat



As the 4th and I continued our journey, he noticed a small movement in the bowl of a nearby tree. It was a healthy colony of turquat! The little gents moved unhurriedly about their business, gathering food for the nest and filling their photosynthetic cells with sunlight for the long night. Turquat use their photosynthetic cells to store energy and later release it as heat, as they are extremely sensitive to cold and can become lethargic at relatively high temperatures. They share this trait with many Californians. The red coloring is due to the presence of anthocyanin, which protects them from "sunburn."



This one was keeping watch for predators. As we approached, it thrummed a warning note on its flagella. Turquats are harmless, but when agitated they can produce a heavy, cloying stench that is extremely difficult to remove from clothing!



Turquats continue to participate in the colony even when they suffer some damage, such as this single-eyed specimen.



Occasionally a turquat suffers such mishap that is seems, to our eyes, almost monstrous. When this happens, the unfortunate individual is affectionately referred to as "Ol' Squabby." We were priviledged to find one such specimen in this colony.



A grand day out!