Sipping latte in my sunlit garden lightened my heart after winter. Waiting for those green shoots to emerge I drifted into reminiscing about the luscious ripe fruits I’d picked.
Leading a nomadic life I’d good fortune to feed from many a kind neighbours trees. Mulberries in my childhood where I climbed into those upper branches bouncing about as my sheet below caught the fruit. It’s dark stain evident on kid’s lucky lips.
The lychees plundered from Indian orchards; red grapefruits and mandarins in NZ; mangoes and custard apples from that orchard next door. Nothing is sweeter than fruit straight from the tree.
Travelling on a shoestring I’d met nothing but kind care from every nationality and religion as I wandered. Yet here we are all in isolation … no one left and no came on the bare platform, transport had grounded to a halt.
d’Verse, 144 words, Sarah
include “no one left and no one came on the bare platform”