you taste of honey

I took Georgie, my daughter, to school this morning. We rode the usual tram, number 24. Georgie likes this tram because the seats are high. She licked my hand and said I tasted good, like honey. Georgie sometimes likes to pretend she is a little kitten. I kissed her forehead and said she tasted pretty. And then we just held our hands and watched the world go by. And it felt so peaceful, so natural, so true, like the world should be in the morning, before the rain hits the ground, before the wind bends the trees.

It was raining when we got to school. It smelled of moist earth, of traffic jams, of dust and water. And honey, and pretty too, of course. Our fragrant skins.