A Bowl-Ful of Clementines

The woman decides on which cat to take home from the local pound. She had been torn between two. She had viewed a youngish grey-white cat, nervous, bold. And uncomfortable- looking. Yet his fur colors remind the woman of storm-clouds, heavy August afternoons rowing an uncle's little row-boat on the pond with the wooden raft that pulls and BUOYS her. Yet...like sun-light fulfilling the morning with its shine, an older cat with deepest yellows and an edge of sea in her eyes, convinces the woman to choose HER orange"fluff", that sprouts from her skin, like dandelion seeds when they are ready to fling through the breezes to plow new roots. HER orange is a brush of the hand on something soft, to soothe, tantalize. While the woman considers, she has an evocation: like... an orange star-burst- sparklers in her hand- tangy sweet tart flavors in her mouth. She knows a Summer sky. She anticipates the sharp eruption that will alight her tongue, her gums, her throat. The inundation, of taste... or... maybe... her mouth can't quite... take it, but -loves it- She contemplates the gold sienna (of her new cat) her breakfast juice, maybe even “Tang". A clementine, one amongst a bowl-ful; an orange Grove; the LIFE-SAVER? Dark orange flames to warm her, like the only friend... in childhood.