A Slice of Peel

The kitchen counter yielded a fresh orange rind left beside a ceramic saucer. I brought a dried piece back to the coffee table, watching the way morning light caught its coarse pores. Holding it flat with two fingers, I pressed the edge of my blade into the curved rim. A slow, steady cut. A clean ribbon of peel parted and curled quietly onto the oak grain. The scent was sharp, brief, and exact.