I have watched you ripening over the past week and was waiting for just the right moment to snap a photo of your red, ripe goodness on the vine.
Little tomato that I grew from seed in Ben's window, watered, fed, transplanted, protected from pests, a cold, wet June, a hot July. My sweet little friend, one of over 18 tomato plants out in our garden.
So imagine my shock when I went to photograph you in your glory, hanging from the outside of the plant, glistening beads of water reflecting the sun off your skin, only to find you gone. After cursing the birds, the raccoons, the squirrels, and the opossums, I had a sudden thought. I turned to Emma, my garden "helper", and asked her where the tomato had gone. She pointed to a small patch of grass and sure enough, there you were, stemless, baking in the sun, in danger of being stepped on, but you had persevered, and there you sat, perfect and red, ready for your close-up.
And I must say, you tasted pretty good too.