A Ring of Citrus

Wiggling out from the snug slipper under the bench, I pattered into the kitchen to stretch my legs. Right on the pale ceramic tiles sat a small, dried orange peel, curled into a stiff golden cup. I paused, tilting forward to steady my brown feet on the cool grout line. Taking a measured little breath, I hopped right inside. The curved peel gave a dry, papery creak, perfectly cradling my round base like a sturdy boat. Rocking gently in place, I felt wonderfully balanced.