Grape

In my childhood, the most vivid memory I have is playing near a long corridor wrapped in grapevines in the courtyard below our building. The thick vines served as swings for the children, and every year, the grapevine would bear fruit that grew from small to gradually large and drooping. I still remember the green color and sourness of the fruit. The adults told me it was because the grapes were not yet ripe. Back then, I always wished time would move faster, and then the grapes would ripen and become sweet and edible. However, I never got to taste the ripe grapes from that vine; the sparrows were always one step ahead of me.