Through the drops on the window I can see the green hills slide by, riding on a swollen river. The oranges sparkle under a winter sun and everything smells like soft soil and damp growth.
We ran through the orange trees, laughing, light flashing between green leaves and bits of rainbow filtering through our eyelashes. A cloud bursts, pelting us with soft bright rain, and we are driven to the trees, huddling among the green leaves and sweet smelling citrus. Screams of hilarity echo across the grove as we realize the gentle drops have transformed into tiny hailstones and the car is a long way back. But the sun rescues us, his shining children in the orange trees, and watches as we race back to the high road to continue our journey up, UP the mountain.
Sometimes, not having a photo makes the memory so much better.
6 comments:
This post: like (especially the last line)
Format change: like (wht text on blk bkgrd)
Removal of extra N: like (tho I'd always thought it was artistic~literary~license with 3 N's)
Oh yes and,
Previous post: like
I agree with Blue Boy... but I love the last line.
Thanks. I burn with shame every time I think of how long my blog title was mispelled. Make no mistake, that was NOT artistic license, that was pure, unadulterated illiteracy. :P
Oh and I LOVE the white on black format! I've been resisting the change for so long, because I didn't want to come across too emo, but it really is my favorite!
My dad is a citrus farmer and I have spent many tough days in 120 degree humid weather, pruning the trees, digging at the weeds, sweating and cursing the ground...never have I heard such a wonderfully welcoming description of orange trees! Suddenly, all my past memories have transformed into something most amazing, thanks to you!
Orange groves are completely magical. Someday I'll get married in one, but after your description I might give up my dream of owning one. I'd hate to see the real-life side of citrus farming. It would destroy all the magic.
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