There was once a fox who was walking along a vineyard when he saw the most beautiful and perfect grapes hanging from the highest vine. He stopped and stared at them with longing in his eyes. They were round and plump and had a beautiful sheen as the sun reflected off their skins; just ripe for picking. They were practically begging him to take them down, to fill his empty belly with their juicy goodness. Like an insect drawn to a venus flytrap, the fox walked in a trance and squeezed through the fences barring him and the grapes and stood directly underneath them.

When he got closer, he could see that the grapes were even better and more alluring then before. He thought that they were flawless, but they were even more perfect than that. He jumped, but he didn’t get to bite the grapes. He jumped again, this time with a running start, but still he could not reach it. It was just too high for him.

A robin landed on the fence beside him and looked at his actions amusingly. “Fox,” she said, to get the fox’s attention. “Why is it that you try to get those grapes, even if you know you can’t?”

“Dear Robin, those grapes are what I yearn for; what I want, no, what I need! I feel as if I was born to be with them, and they with me,” the fox replied. He was in a sorry state; his legs were shaking and his heart throbbed in his chest. The robin looked at him with pity in her small round eyes. She shook her head. “You were once a cunning fellow, Fox. But now I see you have gone and become a fool.”

“Say what you will. You do not understand how I feel,” the fox said, and continued jumping. The robin watched him and his antics for the rest of the day. When the Sun went down and day became night, the fox was too tired, torn apart by his plight. He lay down on the ground shivering, barely able to breathe, his legs no longer able to support him.

“Dear Robin,” he wheezed through constricted breaths. “I know you are still there, even if I cannot see you any longer. I beg of you, won’t you please fly over there and pluck the grapes down for me?”

The robin was surprised, for the fox was a proud fellow who wouldn’t bend his head any lower than horizontal. For a moment, she felt compelled to help the fox out of pity. But her instincts took over, and she knew the better choice to take. “I do not trust you. You have already eaten many of my kind before, and I shall take pleasure in watching you fall.”

“No, please…” the fox pleaded, unable to even carry his head up to look at her.

“I shall listen no more,” the robin said flatly, “lest I be swayed by your honey-coated poison.” And she took off that night, crying to herself, for the robin was a kind soul, who dearly wanted to help the fox but there have been many robins who were tricked and eaten by foxes in the past, and so it came as a lesson passed from robin to robin; that foxes should never be trusted. Had she known that that fox was truly sincere, she would have helped him.

And so the fox was left alone to die, with only his beloved grapes hanging right above him. He swore that, if he could jump just one more time, he would have gotten it but alas, he didn’t have the strength for it anymore. He stared and stared, until they were the only things he could see, and then they were no more.

-Terence