The Birth of Lemon

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Upon the loftiest hillock of an enchanted forest, flourished a tree with an aroma so divine that other flora seethed with envy, and creatures from every nook and cranny of the realm paid homage to savour its essence - it exuded the scent of summertide and yore, of ocean's caress and mirthful cheer. Though the sapling was still youthful and had not yet borne its fruit, the redolence had grown so potent that even its leaves were imbued with the fragrance. Day after day the odour intensified, wafting far and wide, compelling even those critters unaccustomed to wanderlust to embark on a sacred pilgrimage. When all had gathered atop the mound, the perfumed shrub gifted the world with its inaugural fruit. It glimmered with a golden brilliance, a hue so ethereal that naught like it had ever been beheld. In a sudden epiphany, the paradise songbird christened it... "lemon", for to him it bore resemblance with another fruit, the melon, and thus he settled on borrowing its idiom and simply unscrambling its letters to baptize the superior specimen. Enthralled by its beauty, the woodland denizens pondered the genesis of this celestial fruit and its radiant chroma. Its heady aroma evoked what they always weened yellow would smell, and upon nibbling fragments of its zest, they reckon that is the taste of yellow itself. They sought to unearth its origin, eager to replicate its creation, and luxuriate in its fragrance and colour, ere the winter came to desiccate all fruits.

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As they ruminated, a kaleidoscopic butterfly, fresh from the cocoon, fluttered by, her wings adorned with lemony streaks. The sable raven called out fervently,

"Fair butterfly, thou dost bear a hint of yellow on thy wings; prithee, whence does it arise?"

Bewildered, the insect paused and mused for a moment, but in the end, conceded,

"I beg thy pardon, but nary do I possess the faintest notion. When I emerged from mine chrysalis and unfurled mine wings, the hue was already present; perchance, a few specks of golden dust were bestowed upon me whilst I slumbered. Seek counsel from another."

And she fluttered away, in pursuit of blossoms to nectarize.

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The beasts resumed their animated colloquy, yet ere long, a serpentine figure slithered nearby, her scales aglow with the Sun's radiance, emitting a mesmerising and familiar gleam. The wise owl intercepted her and posed the same query the raven did. The serpent replied,

"Sssssuch an interesssssting quessssstion... allow me to sssssit on it for a sssssecond."

Alas, after a brief respite, the snake relinquished,

"I do apologissssse profussssssely, but in the vicisssssitudessss of ssssskin-ssssshedding, the memory may have essssscaped me. Ssssseek counsssssel from another."

And she zigzagged away, in pursuit of some rodent to satiate her dining wishes, while the tree on the hilltop was more crooked than ever under the clustering burden of ever more lemons.

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Suddenly, an enigmatic creature, hitherto reticent - the chameleon - came forward and, mustering its courage, proclaimed,

"I know from whence the yellow came!"

All gazed upon him in astonishment before bursting into laughter.

"Ah, Chameleon, verily, thou art no progenitor of novelties. It is thy nature to merely mimic what already exists. Thou couldst ne'er conceive of yellow."

Then, from a neighbouring pond, emerged the cuttlefish, cousin of the octopus, having traversed a hundred rivers all the way from the ocean. In retort to the owl, he declared,

"Indeed, Chameleon did not beget yellow. I can vouch for mine own self, for I created it. Disregard the idle reptile. Ye all are familiar with mine repute - I fashioned the premier ink known to the world. Yet, fatigued with chronic scribbling in ebony, I elected to render it yellow and used it to dye things below and above the water."

Incredulous, the varmints jeered at him too.

"If thou speak with candour, show us thy craft and gloss the river with glimmer."

And just as they expected, the mollusc stood still, as if winter had finally come and froze him together with water at once. Thus, they dispatched him sea-bound from whence he came and dragooned the chameleon back into hiding in his very own skin.

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Now, the woodland denizens truly fretted, for winter loomed nearer than ever, and few lemons remained upon the tree. By happenstance, a plucky hen passed by, having unwittingly eavesdropped upon the conversation among her beastly comrades. Timidly, she stepped forth and uttered,

"Pray forgive the intrusion, but I overheard ye seeking the genesis of yellow."

All fell silent then urged her to continue.

"Hast thou laid eye on it? Hast thou heard of some exotic fowl that didst bestow it upon its iridescent plumes in a tropical jungle?"

Half-irritated, as she too was a bird, the hen declared,

"Nothing of such... I myself behold its birth every day!"

"Doth thou speak the truth?!" They entreated her earnestly, "We beg of thee, show us forthwith."

"Follow me." said the fowl, mysteriously.

And thus, all the beasts of the forest formed a procession one league long, trailing behind the audacious hen, each advancing in its own manner - some tiptoed, some galloped, some burrowed, some soared, some swam, some snaked, some pawed and so forth - until they reached their destination: the bird's nest. Concealed amidst twigs and withered grass laid a hundred resplendent eggs.

"If ye wish to descry yellow's nativity," she proclaimed "ye shall do as I do, like so."

And went on showing the throng the good manners of brooding.

"How long shall we do so ere yellow arises?" asked the turtle, preoccupied.

"Unto cockcrow, if needful, or even forenoon."

And thus the whole of the folks of the forest picked an egg each and began incubating the spawn of the poultry. And just like she'd said, right about sunup, many in the clutch were ready to hatch. As she rose, the feathered trickster was trembling with shivers,

"What a marvel, each time feels akin to the first!"

The critters congregated around the nest as if poised to witness a miracle, anticipating the emergence of a mighty rainbow, fashioned solely from shades of yellow, or perhaps a minute new citrusy grove altogether. Yet, to their astonishment, naught of the sort occurred. When the shells cracked open, an army of chicks peeped and tweeted, leaped and pecked, all of them yellow as lemons! Bewildered, the beasts turned to the hen as she fed her newborns with corn kernels she had amassed from the fields.

"Thou hast beguiled us! Unravel thy secret. Did thou eat the lemons to alter their hue?"

"Not in the least!" retorted the hen, increasingly affronted. Then mocked them in vengeful return. "What did ye figure, silly old sods? Hath none apprised ye whence yellow comes from?"

But they figured naught and plunged deep into despair.

"Whence doth thy fledgelings acquired their tone? Whence did the kernels, the melons and lemons?"

Softened by their utter melancholy, the chicken finally spoke the verity she treasured. "Long ago, all was tinged with yellow. It was the Sun-doing, enkindling all things with its rays, transmuting them into incandescence. Then, gradually, as they cooled they morphed into hues of orange, followed by red, then purple, blue, green, and so forth, leaving but a scant few golden vestiges."

All was lost to the eyes of the beasts, for the Sun will grow old - they meekly believed - and yellow will fade in the greyness of time. And thus they begged her once more,

"Lay more eggs, we yearn for more yellow!"

"My eggs serve not as sustenance," said the hen, eyeing the raven and the owl, and many others in the crowd, renowned for occasionally partaking of the maternal love's bounty. "Ye have the lemon tree, nay? Feast upon its fruits and expel its seeds. They're yellow as well, so plant them and drench them with water aplenty. Thereby, ye’ll have more citrus. That's whence the colour comes from nowadays."

"But that cycle's eternal!" lamented the newly skinned serpent, biting his tail.

"Which one came first?" The horde voiced in a choir.

The hen rolled her eyes and the scraps from her shells. They clearly ne'er heard of the chicken-and-egg riddle.

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Hearken, noble reader, I thank thee for reading the tale spun by mine quill! If this chronicle hath brought thee delight, I beseech thee to bestow a boon upon it by leaving a gracious heart or scribing a letter of appreciation beneath. Should thy soul yearn for further enchantments, heed mine path, that thou mayest be graced with tidings of new fables and epic tales as they emerge from the depths of my imagination. And may the finest myth-weaver triumph!