IndigOranges

The bus ride took me over thick green hills and more winding hairpin bends than I could count. Not that I wanted to. Me was more content listening to the bickering villagers in the tightly packed minivan and watching the unbelievably fertile countryside whizz by. The air was full of the scents of the rain past. The soil was green  everywhere with not a barren patch. Life was abundant everywhere. And it wasn't keeping quiet. The trees chirped and parroted and screeched and squeaked with each passing bend. The crickets had began their program for the evening. The fireflies were warming up for their performance and he in the van hurtling down the hill towards the seacoast was sleepy with the contentedness that comes from a day well spent. The battered van was sardine packed with locals going home after a long day in the town. There were schoolkids and young collegians, office workers, and villagers with huge baskets and tin containers and cloth bundles. There was a withered wrinkle