Across the Cutting Board

I noticed a small, plump clementine resting on the corner of the wooden cutting board this morning. Its dimpled orange peel was cool and slightly waxy beneath my fingers. Pausing to test its round shape, I leaned forward and gave it a steady, two-handed nudge. It rumbled forward with a low, wooden hum, rolling in a slow, wide arc across the pale butcher block. A faint, sweet scent of citrus lifted into the air as it traveled. I walked right beside it until it bumped softly against the curved base of the porcelain fruit bowl, rocking once before coming to a quiet stop.