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Crisp
Leaves crunch under my feet.
It’s late september.
I got to drive to the orchard.
Wind whipping in my hair,
I control the speed.
My jeep travels smoothly along the gravel.
At the orchard,
Children are skipping,
Holding their parents’ hands.
Crisp.
Sweet.
The scent of apples wafts to my nose.
A warm hand slips into mine.
My boyfriend of ten months smiles at me.
Our joined hands swing as we follow the crowd.
Our hands let go as I boost my cousin up.
Four year old’s tiny fingers reaching upwards,
He grasps the apple. Triumphant.
He chomps into the sweet red fruit.
“Goede?” I ask in what little dutch I know.
“Lekker!”
His one year old sister makes her way over to me.
Tiny legs wobble on the uneven ground,
Arms open gesturing to be lifted up.
I pick her up swinging her over my head,
She smiles her toothy smile,
As I secure her on my hip.
A cool breeze blows and I shiver.
Peter gives me his sweatshirt,
Enveloped in the warmth of his hoodie.
The comforting smell of his is
A whirlwind around me,
Like a hug that doesn’t end.
I look around at the people I love,
The trees adorned with apples waiting to be picked.
This moment is perfect.
This is what life is about.
I think to myself.
This is what life is about.
Leaves crunch under my feet.
This is what life is about.
I think to myself on that fall afternoon
in late September.
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