Through the Grove

Crushed leaves underfoot

From the orange trees above us

As we stomp through the grove,


To scare away any snakes

Who might be lurking,

Although we rarely see them.


Rotting skin of fallen oranges

Decaying in the dried grass;

Streams of ants

Rushing to and from the fruit

As you splash in the puddles

Made by the old green hose.


We stack small stones,

Rake the dry dirt together,

Draw with twigs along the ground,

Water the weeds.


So many questions

Which I had never thought about;

You help me see the world

Through new eyes,

With new wonder.

You make me realise

How little I know.


The scent is beautiful

From the orange leaves:

Inhaled and gone in an instant,

As these days will be,

When I look back on them.


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