Hanging…

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I love this time of year. Summer is fully ripe, nearly to completion. Fruit hangs heavy on branches. The air is sweet and suspended. Waiting. Not daring to breathe out. And one morning, it does. A crisp, clean bite forces the last breath of summer to fade and the yellows and oranges and reds begin their decent.

I have 12 juicy, round peaches on my counter. Waiting…


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