When Life Gives You Lemons...

Lemons. A dozen of them. Round, yellow, pungent.

I rolled them between my hands, waxy/rough in my palms, smelling of summer, of summers past, of promise.

I sliced them, watched as droplets of juice rolled down the cuts, hung on the edge of the peel, caught the light from my kitchen window and refracted it, dropped to my finger.

I tasted the drops, sharp, acidic, biting, fragrant, before twisting the halves to and fro on the hand-reamer, pushing as I went, eager to capture every bit of the liquid.

In my mind I chanted the spell, the formula, the brew, over and over as I squoze, a mantra of sorts, a focus, a song in motion.

Two parts lemon juice, one part sugar, twelve parts water. Two parts lemon juice, one part sugar, twelve parts water. Two parts lemon juice, one part sugar, twelve parts water.

Over and again, something to take my mind from weightier matters, a small, simple thing.

Mix, stir, shake, pour over ice.

I inhaled the scent, mellow and sweet, and took a sip. Spring builds into summer, and I taste it in this drink of sunlight in my glass.