walnuts

I remember climbing walnut trees in the Santa Clara valley. The smell of orchards and sweaty hair and dirt at the end of the day. As the sun went down, my second mother, “Mommy Jane” hollering, “Mike and Monique! Come and eat!” It was an accidental rhyme that I liked. We would burst through the back door, huffing breath, and tearing through the house to the bathroom wash basin.