The Fox and the High Grapes

A fox followed the orchard path after breakfast, sniffing apples and listening to bees. Above a tall wooden trellis, a bunch of purple grapes caught the sunlight.

The grapes looked round and juicy, with cool green leaves folded around them. The fox stopped beneath the vine. A sweet snack would be lovely on this warm morning.

She rose on her hind paws and stretched her nose upward. The lowest grape still hung beyond her reach. Her ears brushed a leaf, but nothing fell.

Next she crouched, gathered her legs, and jumped. For a moment she floated beneath the bunch. Then she landed on the grass, with every grape still on its stem.

The fox took a longer run from the apple tree. Her paws pattered along the path. She sprang higher this time, yet the bunch remained just out of reach.

She tried from the other side, then from the front again. Each landing stirred a little dust. Her breathing grew quick, and her hopeful tail began to droop.

At last she sat in the shade. The grapes had not moved, and the trellis was too high to climb safely. She would need a different plan or another snack.

Instead, the fox lifted her nose and announced that the grapes were probably sour. She walked away slowly, pretending that she had never wanted them in the first place.

A breeze rustled the vine behind her. The fox paused beside the gate. She had not tasted a single grape. How could she know whether they were sour?

She admitted that she was disappointed, then chose an apple fallen on the path. Saying what she really felt made the morning easier than finding fault with distant grapes.