After each morning run, we would come home and raid the mango tree. He'd tug them down, and I'd collect them, clasp against my damp chest, each one edible gold. For two weeks, it was like this: we'd sit in perfectly full silence, savouring our morning mangoes. Now the tree is still, gathering sunlight, flowering quietly. Looking forward to more mango mornings.
Mango morning, watercolour and pen
|Mango Morning, watercolour and pen|