In my online summer Expo & Analysis course for Lyndon State College I was assigned to write about my favorite food. Immediately I thought ice cream, but my teacher had already written about it. Thus I selected a strange fascination of mine: Eating lemons.
A whole. Initially it has a smooth surface with little bumps and crevices. It is round in shape with pointed edges, and a stand out shade of yellow. A yellow so pure and so bright it can not blend in with a blue speckled ceramic bowl, no matter how hard it tries. A yellow so pure and so bright, that anyone looking at it can feel an automatic impulse of energy. Touching it feels soothing, holding it provides company for the hand. It is shaped so easily to fit the hand, that when it nestles in it almost belongs there, it feels at home. When it is scratched its skin peels off, leaving it less protected but still well armed; its skin is relatively thick.
A part of a whole. When cut vertically on its side, the thin slices alter its shape. Initially smooth, it now has a new layer; a somewhat delicate and transparent layer. A layer with white veins that run through a thin pocket of acid. Its fragrance lifts the air, curling it with a new found energy. It is a scent of laundry, dishes, and cleanliness. Each part is similar but unique. The outer skin so prominent before occupies the outer edge now. It is vulnerable.
A part alone. The slice feels cool on my lips. Biting down my teeth condense its acidic pockets until my lips feel the skeleton of the white veins and transparent skin. Immediately the juices flow through my mouth, an alarm clock waking up my senses. Its pungent taste bites my tongue and leaves my mouth sore. But soon the sour acid runs its course and is replaced by the sweet aftertaste of invigoration.
I lean back in my chair calmly. Overlooking the field I pick up another part, and then dance its energy away.