Mangoes. I pick from the mango trees. From a pale green to a gradient. A gradient of sage, a soft gold, and rouge. The tree is tall with leaves and branches stretching as far as the eyes can see. I walk back to the house after a few minutes of admiration, and I reach for a large basket. The basket is round, slightly worn and comprised of cherry wood. The handle is grasped in my fingertips as I prance back towards the tall mango tree. Today is clearer than yesterday, the sky is blue and the clouds are a pearly white. One cloud resembles a mango. The grass is worse. It's long and causes the ends of my calves to itch and turn the same shade of rouge as the mango tree. I decide to treat the itches when I go back to the house. The ladder we have in front of the tree is almost the same height as the tree itself. It reaches for the sky and the stars beyond yet doesn't quite make it as far as it wishes. The ladder is sturdy and doesn't fit the scene before me at all. Metal is what makes up the decently tall ladder. As i begin to climb it, the sun is painfully reflected into my eyes. I take my left hand and reach back to place the hat that was resting on my back and tied around my neck to rest atop my head. Both hands are now resting on the ladder and I continue to climb, my basket looped around my right arm. Soon enough, I have found a good spot and reach for a mango. I pluck it off with a swift pull and place the fresh mango into my basket. I grab a second, a third, a fourth, a fifth, and continue until my hands can no longer go on and there are no mangoes left. It's now 2pm, and I can see a few mangoes resting slightly above the top of my ladder and move towards them. My legs take into account what I've asked at a very slow pace. My aching arm reaches up, and I pull down the mango. My basket is now full to the brim with freshly picked mangoes. The ladder grows taller in my view as I descend. My sneakers reach the ground and a sigh of relief is all that my body can muster. I leave the out-of-place ladder and head for the house with my basket. I twist and push the door knob in front of me. My house is well-lit from the blazing sun, its heat seeping in through the windows. "Plop" the basket goes after placing it onto the table. I slip off my sneakers and walk back to the table as fast as my body will allow without strain. One. Two. I grab two mangoes and place them into the nearby blender on my cyan countertops. The countertops contrast from the rest of the kitchen's pearl white. I grab a nearby ripened banana, peel it, and place it in as well. The peel throws itself into the nearby trashcan, and I make my way towards the fridge. I took out some almond milk and yogurt. With a newfound room in the fridge next to my other fruits. I place in the remaining mangoes and push the fridge closed. The milk and yogurt feel cold in my heated hands. Walking back towards the blender and putting in adequate measurements of the remaining yogurt and milk, I place the lid onto the blender. I plug it into a nearby outlet and press the on button. Waiting doesn't quite feel like an eternity. The ingredients mush together and slowly begin to blend into one another with the accompanying loud sound. Everything meshes together into a soft, cream colored orange. The mangoes are placed into a small cyan cup, with an abstract handle. My feet guide me to the door and outside of it. I walk back to the tall mango tree and sit with my mango smoothie. I take slow sips and enjoy the scenery, yearning for another day like this.
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