Navel Orange – For Tuesdays in July, For Making Smiles Wider
No smile equals that of an orange grin worn by Nancy on a Tuesday morning in July.
Summer Tuesdays at five years old could not have been more blissful. Yet, there, that day, she stood, smiled, and revealed the brightest orange peel in lieu of teeth. Best yet, as we laughed, she handed me one.
These were navel oranges. Not uncommon. Just as you see here. Her father cut them into quarters, from stem-to-end. We, she and I, ate each section as we giggled in the yard with her dog by the evergreens.
They have all the Vitamin C we could want, and plenty of energy. I learned that later. Then, this last summer before first grade, I cared more about blowing dandelions and chasing cabbage moths than Vitamin C. However, it is there, ready for you when you reach the age in which orange smiles with your friend lose their draw.
Be where I am.
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Are we down here? There’s nothing to see. Well, since you are here, “My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains.” John Keats wrote that.