Once upon a time, a pumpkin was spotted, stem clipped, in a stark nearby field.
Bright orange popped against autumn-pale farmland stripped of its non-pumpkin crop.
Back home theories abounded: perhaps the pumpkin was stolen and ditched by a thief lacking the strength to carry it home; or maybe the large fruit was catapult fodder. No indications of smashage, though.
The situation was so...weird.
I decided to snap a photo of the lonely guy. His vibrant optimism juxtaposed within such a bleak landscape.
So I went back to the field.
What should I discover...
but an additional pumpkin keeping him company!
Dear mysterious feral pumpkin and companion, will your stories ever be revealed?
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