TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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09.19.04, sunday night
First family reunion. First freeway tomato spill. First cacti emporium. First time to spy on woodpeckers and sapsuckers among the conifers. First bike ride through black oak cathedrals. First bigleaf maple leaves, dancing by updraft and drifting down and down, past the steep stone steps we must take to reach the emerald pool, where toes and soles refresh themselves, dragonflies grazing among hushed voices. First shooting star. First immersion in a river glinting with fool's gold, children squealing at the shore. First night-snug conversation in a meadow, lying on our backs while the bats sweep overhead in ultrasonic hunt, Milky Way like a kitten's first lick of spilled cream.