He raises the flashlight and washes the gnarled branches of an old tree in artificial light. “A lemon,” he whispers, moving the beam to a neighboring tree. “A lime.” He moves it again, this time to a young tree, supple, espaliered, and so recently planted the ground beneath it still shows signs of disturbance. “And a peach tree for you.”
STOP I AM LITERALLY OUT TO DINNER WITH MY FAMILY AND TEARS ARE STREAMING DOWN MY FACE
