150 or Below

by KwirkyJ

Goodnight Orchard

Solitude.

Slow, contented breaths.

Chill breeze on the nose.

The scent of apples.

A barking dog.

Pricks by grassy stems.

The warmth of a retired sun fading from the fur and ears and eyelids.

Cacophonous hush of leaves in a gust of wind.

Soft, heavy thuds from fruit falling to Earth.

Distant laughter.

Vibrant plumes of orange surrounding ribbons of vermilion-streaked clouds low behind the boughs. Indigo fields overhead.

A crawling insect.

Singing insects all about.

The deceptively sweet odor of fermenting, rotting fruit.

Pressure of the tail curled tightly.

A shiver down the spine.

Pinpricks of light in the deepening sky.

A call to supper.

Sore joints, stiff limbs. A tug behind the ear.

Shake.

Crunching steps.

Most of a constellation.

Mommy and Pappy's tree.

Many, many more trees.

Home.

Author's Note:

Written for the October 2019 prompt "Sundown"