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Weekly Contest #63
I kept my footsteps below the mumble of the apple wasps. Mulch crawled up my bare legs as I passed another row in the orchard. After dodging a tree branch I suddenly became aware of steps behind me. “Brother Thames?” “Oh! Emerson!” I said as I turned to meet his face. A stubby, freckled man looked back. “What are you doing here? This isn’t your day.” “Yes it is.” “No, it isn’t. You’re off,” Emerson said as he wrung his hands over his basket’s strap. It caused him to stupor, and yet his posture seemed suited for him. “You need to ...
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