lemon sunlight

the feeling of the late march sunlight is like butter, or lace: delicate, so soft that it’s almost tasteless or weightless, so much so that it takes a few moments for the feeling to register, not urgent. it gently makes its presence known along the bottom of my jaw, along the outer fold of my right ear: the impression of the heat is like a curl of meyer lemon rind, like the curve of a little wing, of her little avian friends who flash by saying hello to her, trailing the smell of lightly damp soil, redwood, olive, cypress, oak.

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