Fiction by Darlene Eliot
Unfurl the blanket and sit down. Lie back with your nose tipped to the clouds. Listen to Rainbirds sprinkle water on the grass. Let mist caress your shoulders and cheeks. Watch the bees flirt with open-faced roses. Run your hand over the damp grass. Get up and rush back to the house. Retrieve the Sumo orange you forgot when you ran outside, shoeless and expectant. Rest your head on the blanket. Let the sun warm your eyelashes. Pine and eucalyptus tickle your nose. Run your fingers over the orange rind. Cradle it the way you wish the universe would cradle you, if only for a moment.
Darlene Eliot’s work has appeared in Bellingham Review, Sundog Lit, Epiphany, and elsewhere. She lives in California.
