“Pa never took her fishing again. Those warm days were just a thrown-in season. Low clouds parting, the sun splashing her world briefly, then closing up dark and tight-fisted again.
(…)Kay looked through the trees at Ma’s corn and turnip patch, all weeds now. Certainly there were no roses.
“Just forget it. No god’s gonna come to this garden.””
— Sep 18, 2025 04:09AM
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