Peaches

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Cling. Yellow flesh. Sweet and tart. Melting vanilla ice cream on hot cobbler. Peanut butter and jam. Spicy cinnamon, cloves, and nutmeg. Schnapps. The red and orange caramel¬†around the crust of a pie. Burning the roof of my mouth. Grandma’s kitchen. The sticky, sweet, smell of canning.

They disgusted him. The black birds sitting on the wire looking down at the peaches. The small, green, fruit barely larger than a seed. Skin stretched around the seed. Nothing to see here. Shoo!

Michael S. Sommermeyer

Michael S. Sommermeyer writes fast fiction, observations, poetry, mysteries, fantasies, and science fiction. He focuses on oddities, unbelievable facts, strange phenomenon, discoveries, and the people who wander uneven worlds. He ponders the dreams of mythmakers and explores what the every person dreams about. He writes fiction for http://wordsmithholler.com and has written scientific and technical writing for a number of magazines.

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