a clementine for break

I half peel the fruit and pop a wedge of its flesh into my mouth. It yields satisfyingly to the stalactites in the hot cavern of mouth. As I chew and it sits there on the desk I find myself fascinated by it. The soft pulpy innards. The rind that protects it. 
I'm chewing on something and I don't quite know what. The time of orange blossom I lived through in Spain appears. My walks among the orchards there. Egrets perched white in the greenery of the citrus trees. A snake slither-scribbling the water of the irrigation canal.  A head that could never quite unmask the simple desire of its heart. A fear of being soft and being squashed....
The bell goes to end the break (the egrets scatter and lift from the trees) and I am back in the class with the desk and the half eaten fruit and sleet, white and soft-falling onto the hard street outside the window. I quickly peel and eat the rest of my clementine then go and wash its juice from my fingers.