the last mango

 kwame was the best tree climber in his village. fast, nimble,  and daring, he could snatch ripe fruit from any branch before the birds even noticed. but today, he had only one goal. to pluck the last mango from the tallest tree near the riverbank, the mango his grandfather used to call ''the golden one.'' legend had it that whoever picked and ate it would receive clarity in the most difficult decision.

kwame needed that clarity now. his father wanted him to learn carpentry; his mother, farming. but kwame's  heart belonged to painting, through no one took it seriously.

he reached the riverbank as the sun rose, and there it  was glowing in the morning light, high above, the climb started well but halfway up, the slick from last night's rain. he slipped and his arm, barely catching  a branch  to avoid falling. his confidence wavered. he sat for  a moment, cradling his bruised arm staring at the mango.

as he considered giving up, breeze rustled the leaves and something caught his eye a small bird, its wing twisted, trapped in a vin higher up. kwame forgot the mango. carefully, he climbed toward the bird untangled it and set it free. just as he watched it soar, the branch beneath him shook and the mango dropped. 

it didn't fall to the ground it landed gently in a cluster of leaves, inches from him.

kwame laughed, he had come for clarity, and in helping another creature he found it he would follow his heart, not because of the mango's magic but because he finally believed he could