Orange Blossom Summer - Wiebo Grobler

Orange blossoms fall from the trees, twirling like miniature cocktail umbrellas, slowly descending on hot air perfumed by summer as we drive underneath.

She shakes her head to dislodge the soft white petals. A wisp of hair flies loose, and I can't help but stare as she brushes petals from her chest with the back of her delicate fingers before tucking the stray strand back behind her ear.

We ride on in thundering silence. We knew we liked each other, but speaking of it didn’t seem right. It would spoil the moment. My mouth was dry. I lick my lips and grip the reins tighter. I open my mouth to say something, only for my throat to constrict, and I quickly close it again.

The sun was setting in the distance, a burning mandarin, spreading rays of colour along the clouds in a multitude of tangerine hues and bruised purples.

Golden pollen flecks, lit by the diffused dapple rays, float around her head like a halo.

The staccato beat of the horse’s hooves and the rhythmic creak of the wagon’s wheels was like a lullaby. I could see her eyelids getting heavy. It’s been a long day in the orchard. Most of it spent pretending not to look at one another.

Now. I should say something - now. I should also have paid more attention to the road. The branch struck as if it had been waiting all its natural life for this moment.

Connecting straight to my forehead, I topple backward off the wagon, getting a zero for dismount and landing.

I open my eyes and stare into her deep pools of blue. In the center - a dark, mischievous universe – twinkling, waiting to be explored.

She smiles a beautiful, sobering smile. It clears my head like a hot cup of fresh ground coffee first thing in the morning.

I silently thank the offending tree. I would happily take another tumble and fall to wake up to the beginning of what was going to be my world. 

Smiling, she holds out her hand, and I gladly take it. 

Originally published by Reflex Press, July 2017

Born in South Africa and raised in a small farming community, Wiebo only had his imagination to keep him occupied till he discovered the magic of books.

He fell in love with the characters within from an early age. Soon, he began to create his own worlds and stories in his head. These stories developed voices that clamored to be heard. So, he writes.

Shortlisted for his Flash Fiction and Poetry for the Fish Publishing Prize he had various stories published in Molotov Lit, National Flash Fiction Day, Reflex Fiction and more.

Twitter: @Wiebog