Midnight river of earthy darkness tumbles into indigo coffee cup. It cuts the heavy silence of an empty house. A single tangelo, head snapped open, peel bent and bursting forth with the sharp scent of new ideas. I take my treasure out the front door.

Sunrise dapples through east-facing trees, splashes the cement stoop, but doesn’t warm my bare feet. SUVs rush and bump, anonymous neighbors caught in the slipstream of the daily commute.

Do they see the other reality, the tumbled-out-of-bed-and-into-shorts-and-sweatshirt, knees hugged close with coffee steaming, dreaming?

No matter.

Citrus sprays, catches sun, as I bite into the new morning.

© Liz Husebye Hartmann (2017)

(Carrot Ranch Prompt (05/04/2017):  In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about comfort food. How can this familiarity influence a story or character? Is it something unusual, like Twinkies from the 1970s? Or is it something from home, from another place or time? Go where the prompt leads.)