Smell of oranges

When I was eight, my mother told us we were immigrating to Israel and promised me a doll house and that the groundwas covered with oranges. It didn’t take long for me to realize that she lied… twice.

Now, every time I hear athump sound outside my window and pass by the tangerine tree that no one cares about I recall her promises and realize how much has changed in the past twenty something years.