(Another short blurb because I reallllllllllly wanted to write about lemon farming dwb)

-John's POV, 1st-

It was early morning, and the waves of corsican purple intertwining with pale rose pink and harvest gold yellow in the sky struck me as quite beautiful. As I walked down the worn pathway of mud and dirt outside my old red thatch-roof farmhouse, I headed towards the rusted light blue truck that stood in my driveway. With a few quick motions, I had made it to the vehicle, and pulled open the door, booting up from the side rail and swinging into the brown leather front seat. Some chickens had followed me to the car, but I paid them no mind, buckling up and pulling out of my driveway.

As I drove down the gravelly road littered with pebbles and mulch, I thought to myself "what would it be like if I weren't a farmer?" I shrugged. It surely would never occur, so why worry? Either way, I was on my way to do morning chores now, so I had no time to fret. Arriving at the big, seasonally-sown orchard, I stopped, getting out of my truck. I pulled on my work gloves and started to pick the yellow fruit from the trees on which they grew. My height was an advantage in this field, for being so tall meant I could easily reach the branches of the trees that some people would struggle with.

It was a difficult yet enjoyable job. I would pick the fruit, take a break and have some of my mother's delicious homemade lemonade, and then get back to picking until nightfall. All day and all afternoon I would do so, and happily at that. See, being a lemon farmer, it was fun. And beneficial. Living on a beautiful plot of land such as a farm was so lucky, in my opinion. You got to witness all those things nobody else would, and do all those things they wouldn't. I loved it. Sure, it was hard work, but as I always say, hard work is good work.