Ordinary Orange

Growing up in the colorful land of rich fruits ripened by sunshine, I waited for the harvest time... imagining how sweet they tasted. I carried a basket made of strong wick, it could hold forty oranges or more, farmers left them on trees for anyone who loved to pick them after work. The orange grove was on the outskirts of the town with three church towers and lovely hills bubbling with brooks; there I sat and ate my tasty oranges. Around six o' clock, the carroty sun dropped below the darkening horizon giving a goodbye kiss to the oranges not happy to be hidden in darkness. Until the last day of Fall I picked oranges, I gave some away to neighbors who smiled; grandma loved them as in her youth days... she remembered the orange grove and cried.