The Vine Hanging Down

She sat down at a table in the shade. Her daughter and husband went back into the restaurant to order their food.

A vine hung down from a trellis overhead and dangled exactly where she sat. It rubbed her hair, and when she turned her head, it poked her in the face.

As she straightened the table with her left hand, she reached up to the vine with her right and tried to break the tip off or tie it in a knot so that it wouldn't reach so far. But her effort failed.

She just wasn't able to tie the vine up high enough with one hand. So she looked up at what she was doing. She folded the tip of the vine and started to tie is off in earnest. But just then, something fell in her eye.

Determined to get the vine out of her hair, she continued to fiddle with it with her right hand, but now she was looking down again and rubbing her eye with her left.

Something fell in my eye, she muttered.

I looked up at the vine. The tip was gone, but there was no knot, and it still hung down low.

It attacked you, I said, remembering a time long ago when my mother cracked a joke about cutting down a pine tree and looked up only to have it drop sap in her eye.

Then I looked at the tip of the vine again. There was a large drop about to drip.

Look, I said. It's about to do it again!

She quickly looked down and gave up on the knot.

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