One day when he was very young he said that morning tasted like orange. He might have meant simply that he wanted his morning juice, but from that day forward it was a family joke, that morning's tasted orange. "Wow! It's certainly orange today!" They'd exclaim on warm, summer day's when the sky was robin's egg blue. Or when it was over-cast out, "maybe it'll orange up later..."
The night he died his mother wondered if the day would ever taste orange again. Folks didn't understand when she'd say afterwards, "I wonder if I'll ever taste mornings again?" Or why a few months later she stood sobbing in front of the oranges at the local mart.
All too often in the ensueing weeks turned months, she stood watching the first rosey fingers of dawn, peel away the night. Watching, waiting, to again taste orange, but it was in vain.
One day while sitting on a park bench she watched a little girl , maybe 5 or 6 years old trying to peel an orange. She bit back tears, and wondered if the child knew she held morning in her hand. The girl was obviously growing frustrated with her efforts. Finally she spoke up, "Lady, can you help me?"
The woman nodded and deftly freed the rind form the golden sphere and handed it back to the child. The girl beemed her thanks and turned to go. Stopped suddenly, and turned back. "Lady, want some?" With that she clambored up onto the bench beside the woman and shared her orange. The woman hesitated, then said, "Do you know what mornings taste like?" Golden curls shook 'no' as mouth was full of juicy pulp. "Well, they taste like oranges."
The child looked at her solomnly with delft blue eyes, as if mauling this over. "Yep, they do."
The woman gazed somewhere over the child's head, at the robin's egg sky. Listened to a bird singing somewhere. Then looked at the peaceful, happy expression on the child's face, and heard herself echo, "Yep, they do."
