A golden and fragrant glow
Margaret-Mary Flynn. 10 March 2017
Every year at this time, a case of clingstone peaches would arrive at the back door of my grandma’s house. She would set up a table and a couple of wooden kitchen chairs in the shade of the willow tree, furnished with bowls and paring knives, and rows of the tall cylindrical glass preserving jars that she used in her Fowler’s Vacola Preserving outfit, her pride and joy
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Of lutes, language, ouds and odes
Margaret Mary Flynn. 09 March 2017
He stepped through the door of the room I was using for entry interviews. A young man, dark hair, and the oval face, straight nose, strong eyebrows and lustrous dark eyes of Byzantine inheritance. We shook hands. Mehmet, in halting English, outlined his request.
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