@hadlovedher
♘ ▸ IF MAMA COULD SEE IT NOW, she’d be proud.
this month’s harvest is nominal –- it’s nearing the end of a long, sweaty, fruitless summer after all – but it’s enough to pay off the utilities on the house and feed the horses. mary’s found that most of his labor is a lot of sowing with very little reaping. he’d done it all; tended to the bees, climbed peach trees (with the bruises flowering up his ribcage to prove it), done all the horseshoeing even when his back ached. now all he’s got to show for it is a few jars of honey, what peaches aren’t rotten, and a couple cartons of eggs. it pays, though, and that’s all that matters. some of the other folks have even claimed that his uncle’s peaches were the best in catterwhal.
( mary doesn’t think they’re all that special given the height of the tree they’re falling from, but he’ll take the compliment regardless. )
it’s maybe an hour till the farmer’s market is set to close, and the book mary’s been scanning for the past few hours is starting to blur into nonsense. he’s long took his earphones out, settled now with the white noise of the bodies shuffling around him. most of his stuff has sold by now ‘cept for the peaches –- which he can’t blame anyone for, considering their quality – and he almost wonders if he should start packing up shop when it happens: a shuffle, a clatter, and a series of soft bounces on concrete. mary’s eyes snap up from his book.
“ oh –- “ someone’s ran into his crate of peaches, knocking half of the bulk over. his confusion dulls once he’s realized what’s happened, and he laughs. “ it’s alright. let me get it. happens all the time, it was – you know, kind of set at a precarious angle anyway ––-- “
mary kneels down to start picking up the fruit, but half of them are caked in dust from the market’s concrete flooring anyway, so he stops and sits back on the balls of his feet. lets out another soft laugh.
“ y’know, maybe it’s for the better. “
