It was one of those hot and humid days in the South, the kind where your t-shirt sticks to the sweat on your back and you're constantly interrupted by the flies around your head. The rows of trees were practically empty of people, except for the one directly in front of me. My family was smiling with the tired sweetness of summer. The orchard was heating up under a noon-day sun while they walked out ahead of me. After I had collected a substantial amount of peaches I strolled back to the car, sat on the hood, leaned my head back, and grinned at the sun. My hand closed in on a peach, when I bit into it the juice dripped lazily down my arm. The first peach tasted like happiness, the fifth peach tasted more like regret. It was worth it though. The rest of them eventually ended up back at the car, pink juice in trails down their arms and chins. My brother started throwing peach pits at us, all my Mom did was laugh at our sticky smiles.
