Momentary Blindness: Orange Garden

Drip drip. I feel the cool droplets of rainwater on the back of my neck. I’m writing and the water drips onto the back of my hands and down onto my paper. The air is pleasant in sound and smell. The birds chirping conceals the slight sound of distant traffic while the smell of rain water clouds my nose. I was told prior to this moment that I should expect the smell of oranges but my nose searches for citrus with no luck. The sun is warm on my arms but I can feel the coolness of it shifting behind clouds. I move my feet and I can hear them slosh in the puddle in front of me. The gravel crunches in front of me and I imagine a heavy-footed family walking by and exploring the views. A water droplet falls right into my ear and startles me. My hair is frizzing at the edges and I feel it tickle my shoulders. Caw caw. The chirping of the birds is broken apart by the harsh sound of something like a crow. The fluttering of wings indicates to me that the pigeons may be fleeing in terror from this superior bird. It surprises me that the sound stands out so clear to me. And along with the crow I begin to hear the traffic and a baby crying. A peaceful state of mind can be broken with one simple sound. But then, I hear the sounds of a mother consoling her child, and the chirping begins again while the traffic falls back into the distance. There is peace once again in the orange garden.