The orchard before the rain

An original description of an invented orchard as a storm approaches.

At the gate, the orchard seemed prepared to receive us. Sunlight rested on the long grass, and the branches leaned across the path as if offering their apples. Bees worked lazily among the fallen fruit. Each step released a warm, sweet smell from the ground.

Halfway down the slope, the air changed. The leaves turned their pale undersides towards the sky, all at once, like a crowd receiving bad news. Beyond the final row of trees, a bank of cloud had risen above the fields. It was not yet overhead, but it had swallowed the hills.

We began filling our basket more quickly. The apples that had looked bright among the leaves now seemed to watch us: dozens of hard red eyes. A sudden gust shook the branches. Fruit struck the ground with heavy, separate thuds, and the bees disappeared.

When the first drop landed on my wrist, it was large and cold. The path to the gate had darkened beneath the trees. Behind us, another apple fell, then another, as though something were following at a measured pace.

How does the writer make the orchard seem welcoming at first but increasingly threatening?