The Most Natural Thing
BY JACKIE BORDJADZE
It was the end of the day, the sun sinking behind the tree tops. The orchard gleamed with gold.
Clara paused her picking to gaze west, drinking in
the stillness and silence. She leaned against the tree
and watched, entranced. When the sun was gone, she
turned her head to stare east, into the dark and
dreary shadows. Through the bleakness and the
growing fog, she could see the lights of her father's
tractor, hear her brothers racing toward her.
Clara shivered. The warmth and noise of the
house didn't seem as appealing as it had before.
All the noises stilled, as if at that thought.
One of her brothers screamed.
She watched gravely as they rushed at her,
pulled her from the tree. Nathan pulled out his
phone, with shaking hands, calling her mother, while
Father and David felt her pulse, held her, lay her out
on the ground.
It was odd, watching them from this height.
They seemed so small and lost. Odd, maybe, but also
the most natural thing.
PHOTO BY PUAL WALKER
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