A Little Orange Hill

I pushed past the wooden cutting board and discovered a small, bright orange resting alone beside the fruit bowl. It was plump and round, with a bumpy, fragrant peel that smelled like sweet afternoon sunshine. I gave it a soft nudge with my front paws, and it made a slow, wobbly roll across the polished stone counter. When it bumped gently against a ceramic sugar jar and came to a stop, I leaned my cheek right against its cool, zesty skin, listening to the quiet hum of the house.