I walked out the front door.
They’re harvesting oranges in the orchard across the street.
They’re so bright in the sun.
I felt the breeze from my right
and heard it rustle the palm fronds.
The air smelled slightly sweet, warm, gentle.
I sat and watched the birds circling in the distance
and noted the gradations of blue in the sky.
I sat and breathed.
Color drained from all objects and slowly returned.
My father will not be recovering.
– For more in this series and story behind it, see 13 years