There are two —no make that three lemon trees in the village home. One sprouts huge lemons every year, but they are few in number. Probably their large size exhausts the poor tree. It gives birth to a lesser number. The other two are laden with lemons. When they are still green, they are partly hidden with green leaves. When they ripen, and get yellow in color, the two trees are a lovely sight to behold.
I first have a look when I open the bedroom windows, and see them laden with lemons. I think of lemon preserves, and drinks. I mentally remind myself to find time to pluck them, but time is the one thing I never have.
I am busy with cleaning the house which remains close due to my absence from home country. Believe me when I say there is ton of dust covering each, and everything, and it saps my energy to zero while I am busy cleaning. At the end of the day dust clings to my hair, face and clothes. I can even taste it in my mouth despite swishing water into it before drinking. I’m bone weary as evening approaches.
When I’m about to step into the car for departure, I remember the lemons. I ask the watchman to get them. In a span of fifteen minutes he plucks some for me to take along. I tell myself maybe I will have more time.
By the time I manage another visit — the lemons are gone, and the trees are bare. The watchman has harvested the trees for himself.
Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.