Orange Juice

When I was a kid in South Africa, my Poppa would fresh-squeeze orange juice every morning.

The sound of the juicing machine was my alarm on the occasions I stayed over at my Grandparents’ flat.

Now I live in Cyprus, where copious amounts of trees grow, but the oranges on them are not as sweet and sadly don’t make the lovely juice I so adore.

They’re probably perfect for making marmalade.

By the time these green ones actually ripen, they will have burst open on the branches and are no good to eat, so I have to buy different ones at the supermarket.

But in Spring, the smell of orange blossoms from the trees in the “garden” of my block is absolutely gorgeous, so I really can’t complain.

Here’s to you, my Poppa. Every time I drink orange juice, even after all these years, I think of you.

By LayneCain

Layne Cain uses the Hashtag #laundrywithlayne

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