Essence of orange
the oil of peel flying up
to my eager nose.
I wore a sweater
and, the day too warm for it,
left it by the door.
Tonight’s setting sun
rippled bright through the windows
and crept up the walls.
Fingers, off the keys,
lift up the forgotten pen
to scratch the paper.
—- and a last minute bonus —-
My old fountain pen
cleaned and refilled and writing.
My fingers gladdened.
