The Fox and the Grapes

The bunch of grapes hung far overhead, a deep, dark purple, so plump it seemed a single light touch would burst it into sweet juice. Each round grape pressed close against the next, glistening in the sun as if someone had just wiped a thin layer of dew across them.

The vine had been trained over the branch of a tall tree, and it bent into a green, shady arch above the path through the vineyard. On both sides of the narrow trail, a few clumps of wildflowers grew among the grass, their petals trembling whenever a breeze slipped through. Of all the heavy bunches on the vine that day, the finest and juiciest was the one hanging far higher than the rest. It hung right in the middle of the green arch, as if it were deliberately daring anyone to reach it.

That day at noon, a fox happened to pass along the trail through the vineyard. His stomach growled again and again with hunger, because he had wandered all morning without finding a single bite to eat. The fox slowed his steps, lifted his head, and caught sight of the grapes sparkling among the green leaves.

The ancient Greeks left later generations a great many fables. This one, an Aesop fable, is among the shortest of them all, so short it can be told in a few breaths. Even so, it has traveled with generation after generation of children, all the way to the present day.

The whole vineyard lay still. There was only the soft rustle of leaves in the wind and the honey-sweet smell of ripe grapes drifting through the hot, heavy noon air. That smell alone was enough to make the fox's mouth water. He imagined the cool sweetness melting on his tongue, and the feeling of each plump grape bursting in his mouth. The fox swallowed hard, and his eyes never left the grapes for a second.

There was no one around. Only the fox stood there alone under the vine, with the sparkling grapes right above his head. He took a deep breath, crouched down on all four legs, and sprang upward with all his strength.

The first jump fell far short. The fox touched nothing but empty air, still a good long way from the grapes. Then he dropped back to the ground with a thud, and dust and bits of grass flew up in a cloud around his paws.

The fox got up at once and quickly brushed the dust from his coat. He had not lost heart at all. This time he backed up a few steps and carefully measured the distance from the ground up to the grapes. Then he took a fast running start before he flung himself into the air.

The second jump was much higher than the first, high enough for the tip of his nose to brush the lowest vine leaf beside the bunch. But that was as far as he got. The grapes still hung high above, without moving in the slightest.

The fox panted hard, his tongue lolling out to one side, but his eyes stayed fixed on the grapes. He would not give up. He backed even farther away for a longer run, and then he jumped again and again. Up he shot and down he fell, down he fell and up he shot, without stopping for even one breath.

Every single time, the fox missed. Once he leaped so high that it seemed he had touched the stem. But just as he stretched out a paw, his whole body was already dropping back to the ground. His four legs began to shake with tiredness, and his breathing grew faster and faster.

The fox stopped for a moment and stood there catching his breath, his front legs braced against the ground to rest them. A light breeze swept across the arch and set the bunch swaying gently. The grapes knocked softly against one another with a tiny clicking sound, as if they were laughing at the fox from up above. The fox gritted his teeth and gathered the last of his strength. He backed up a long way to get ready for one final leap.

At last, after a jump that used up every bit of strength he had left, the fox crashed down into the grass. He rolled over once and then lay flat where he fell, his chest heaving with every quick breath. His coat was covered in dust and dirt and a few dry leaves. His ears drooped all the way down, and his tail drooped with them. He had no strength left even to lift them.

The fox lay there breathing for a long while before he slowly sat up and looked at the grapes once more. They were still deep purple, still plump, still hanging in exactly the same spot. It was as if they were floating up there just to tease him.

The fox sat quietly for a while. His eyes still did not leave the grapes, but this time there was no longer any longing in them. His stomach still growled with hunger, and his legs still shook with tiredness. And the grapes stayed exactly where they were, far up high, out of the fox's reach.

At last he gave a small shrug and muttered something just loud enough for himself to hear. Those grapes must be very sour, he said. They are probably not even ripe yet. Why wear myself out jumping for them?

With that, the fox slowly got to his feet and brushed off the last of the dust on his back. Then he walked away with his head held high, as calm as if those grapes had never troubled him for a single second. He never looked back, not even once. He simply trotted on down the trail until he disappeared behind the clumps of wildflowers by the path.

The trail through the vineyard was quiet and empty again, just as before. The noon sun still slipped through the gaps in the leaves, laying a small streak of light on each grape. The wind still stirred the green arch softly. And that deep purple bunch of grapes still hung high above, plump and sweet, exactly as it had when the fox first set foot in the vineyard.