“I ate my last peach from Grand Junction (a.k.a. the Grand Valley in Colorado, where the Colorado and Gunnison rivers meet) today with breakfast.

It tasted like home, and warm summers, and a green oasis in the middle of towering desert mesas. It mad me think of red dirt and seared skies. For a few seconds I imagined I was a kid wandering in orchards again.

It’s the sense memory of floating lazily down a canal, where we’re not supposed to be, or picking wild asparagus with mom. It calls up memories of crossing the railroad track with a bag full of empties in my hand, to trade them in for deposit so I can get more of the local soda shops forbidden goods.

It’s what the gods meant when they said “nectar”, and what sunshine would taste like if you could pick it from a tree.

I miss Colorado.

Also, apparently, the place is cursed.”

— Damion Mosier-Tidd