“Take one,” he grumbled, pointing to the tiny cluster of orange berries hidden inside the prickly bush.
The young gnome carefully pushed a branch aside and plucked one.
“Taste it,” he then said as he leaned up against the giant oak.
The young gnome again did as he was told and placed the soft pungent berry in his mouth. Seconds later he winced before spitting the unripened fruit out.
“It’s sour!” the little one cried.
The elderly gnome burst into laughter as he watched his grandson’s face contort in disgust.
“Now you know which ones to leave for the birds.”
The Weekday One Hundred 