Winter Tomato

She buys the last container of green tomatoes of the year at the farmer's market. Her Thanksgiving attempt at fried green tomatoes ends up a gloppy mush of undercooked tomato, bread crumbs and egg whites. She puts the remaining ones in the refrigerator, forgets they are there until one day in December when she stumbles on a bright red tomato in the back corner of a shelf, as out of place as a hummingbird in snow.
She takes it out, cuts it up. The first bite of salty, meaty flesh brings back memories of summer, fresh succulent vegetables abundant. The gooey pulp of the inside a luscious cool wet aftertaste.