Biscuits with butter and honey
Long walks for careful talks
Canasta and Gladiolas
A cool and giant leather chair
A half-house with steep stairs that lead to peaceful, safe sleep
A conservatory of sweetness, strength, humor and laughter in the face of consistent pain
Softly fragranced, southern childhood days called forth with joy to light the chisel-sharp cruelty of northern poverty, family, and longevity
A stranger to monotony
A speaker to children
A full-bosomed mother to every wounded, tired and confused little soul
I cannot remember her ever asking for any thing, large or small.
Not a cup of tea or a brick of gold.
16 February 2009
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