somewhere there's a peach orchard, each tree hanging heavy with fruit, green shimmering leaves, gentle summer breeze, sit down lean against the trunk, just enough shade from the sun. wooden bushel baskets overflowing with the day's harvest, waiting for the people coming down the dirt road in pickup trucks and station wagons to take some home to the suburbs. chill them in the ice box-eat them one by one. mash then up into peach jam. freeze home home made ice cream.
and the sun is now setting. ciadas and doves singing their songs. the stars twinkle one by one filling out the constellations throughout the sky. milky way blurry across the heavens, i close my eyes and fall asleep. the shop is closed for the day, you cannot reach me. i've closed the gate and only i have the combination. we're open at seven in the morning.