For weeks, we had picked and stacked and boxed the fruit.
The thick sweet smell of ripe fruit followed me everywhere.
Yellow jackets swarmed the fallen fruit.
Days swelled thick and bloated until they blurred one into the next.
Then, the lightening came.
The way the wagon’s wood base rose without the weight it had carried once the apples were sold.
The way my body unwound over miles, and finally settled The way sleep spilled deliciously over the dark night like a dark, overpowering joy.