hand picked

As I was peeling the skin away, small specks of dirt began to cling to my fingers and under my nails. The dirt was mixed with the familiar iridescent stickiness. When I was finished peeling, I rinsed my hands and dove in, teeth first. It was the best orange of my life. The pith and pulp tasted earthy and the orange flesh, plumped with juice, tasted the brightest and sweetest of any orange ever. It was hand picked and hand delivered just for me from my mother’s 2nd cousin’s wife’s backyard orange tree in Florida. I wish everything was hand picked this way. I can take the dirt if the sweetness under the skin is the best in life. Sweetness under the skin, it’s what we all want. A hand picked orange, a hand picked life, a hand picked love.