The Sharp Sting of Summer

The first thing I remember is the sudden, electric prickle at the back of my jaw. It is the phantom sting of citrus, a bright, acidic ache that travels from the tongue straight to the base of the skull. My fingers recall the waxy, dimpled resistance of the skin, the way it yields just enough to release a mist of sharp, bitter oil that clings to the air. It is a scent that cuts through the humidity of a heavy afternoon, a clean, biting clarity that demands your full attention. We carry these sensations like dormant seeds in our palms, waiting for a trigger to bloom into a visceral recollection of heat and thirst. The body does not need a map to find its way back to the orchard or the market stall; it simply follows the scent of the rind. When did we stop letting our skin decide what is beautiful, and why do we insist on naming the things that only our nerves can truly understand?

Sudeep Mehta has captured this sensory memory in his image titled Lemons. The way the light catches the texture of the fruit makes me want to reach out and feel that familiar, waxy resistance all over again. Does the sharpness of the color make your mouth water, too?