oranges

the wheels of the cart kicked at the dust as they rattled down the track. its cargo bounced and jumbled through pot holes and over loose stones. the driver sat, reigns threaded through his dusty fingers, squinting against the sun under the rim of his cloth cap. his eyes watched the thread muscles of the horses thighs sway. bright red poppies peeked from amongst long grass as they passed. an axle creaked and groaned and the weight of the cart shifted. oranges rolled and bumped under the tarpaulin, a formless mass of orange bubbles, ever changing shape.

a bump and a crack and a latch broken. an orange wave swelled and spilt from the back of the cart. the pool of orange seeped across the dust into the grass and the driver tugged at the reigns to halt the cart and turned. he lifted his cap, wiping sweat and dust from his brow with the back of his hand. he replaced his cap and lowered himself from the seat, his boots clapping the dust as he landed.

a few lost oranges still rolled and scattered but most lay in a bright pool that arched out before him. he sank his fingers deep into pockets and toyed with a loose orange with the toe of his boot. he looked across his shoulder at the shimmering road ahead as it snaked up towards the distant farm house. he sighed through his teeth.