A Clean Peel

A bright little clementine was sitting loose on the pine table, right in a pool of morning sun. I took my time sauntering over, keeping the crab tucked level against my ribs. Reached out with my thumb and pressed a slow seam right down the skin until it tore with a quiet, oily snap. The citrus mist smelled sharp and clean. I peeled one thick curl of orange rind clean off and set it down arched like a tiny bridge across the wood grain. Stepped back easy, looked at the color next to the crab’s shell. A dead-on match. Smirked a little, tapped the rind flat, and let the table soak in the light.