There are rocks in my river, dry and pitted, waiting for rain like old grandmothers waiting for the changing of seasons. Wiping their hands on faded aprons after peeling apples, bagging them and putting them in the freezer for future days. The rocks are craggy. Defiant in nature but yet…
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There are rocks in my river, dry and pitted, waiting for rain like old grandmothers waiting for the changing of seasons. Wiping their hands on faded aprons after peeling apples, bagging them and putting them…
