Daunting Dolphin #2

The bustle of the farmer’s market swirls around me. I can see piles of fresh fruit waiting to be hefted and groped. Mounds of cantaloupe and heaps of peaches shelter me while I let my hands move of their own accord. I find the right one. It gives in slightly to my probing pressure, hinting at the inner softness, but the flesh is firm and the skin unblemished. With a smile of triumph I claim it as my own.

Later, after the scent and sounds of the farmer’s market have been left behind, I run the cantaloupe under cool water. The contrast of the cool water and the searing heat makes me want to run under the sprinklers as though I were still a child.

The knife slices into the cantaloupe and the scent pours out. The musky scent of the cantaloupe makes the hot air as heavy as perfume, sweet as honey. The smooth flesh of the fresh fruit melts in my mouth. The flavor lingers in the corners of my mouth, the sweet wild taste coloring my words. My hands drip with the juice. It pours down from my fingers and pools in the hollows of my wrists. I raise my hands to my mouth lest I loose any drop of sweetness.

I lay on the grass outside. The shadows and sunlight chase each other across my body as the wind blows through the trees. The bowl of cantaloupe sits next to me, empty. A bee lands on the bowl, enjoying the juicy remnants that even I could not salvage from the bowl. This is summer. It is the fresh fruit and the scents and the cold water splashing, shocking me into recognizing the heat around me. It is the grass and the sun flickering on my pale-winter skin.