Favorite Phrase of the Day:
Knowing she couldn’t refuse, Mandy went with her grandmother into the backyard. The blinding July sun stung their sensitive eyes; both women wished they had thought to wear their sunglasses.
Along the back of the house grew Hannah’s rosebushes, ‘new’ generations born from the plants belonging to her grandmothers, one of whom she never knew, and other forebears. Unlike around some homes with bright, colorful flowerbeds, however, the roses here were mostly dark colors–blood reds, wine-purples, midnights among others. Their perfume hung heavy in the hot, humid air. At the back of the property, in the part of the woods where Hannah and Todd kept the underbrush and deadwood cleared away, lay a child’s fairyland full of beautiful multicolored perennial plants and flowers, including red and white columbine. In the expanse of yard between the deck and the woods sprouted several apple, oak, and a couple more varieties of deciduous trees, all of which were planted as saplings when the house was built one hundred and twelve years ago. Round wrought iron benches encircled the trunks of a few of the apple trees.
Hannah and Mandy sat on one of the benches. The tree limbs hung low around them with the weight of maturing apples. In the Spring, Hannah made a habit of collecting apple blossoms to display in shallow bowls of water in her kitchen, but she knew for every blossom she picked, she also lost an apple.
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