Before we'd even started she'd begun to clear, the whitefish salad bought special for those among us still unschmeared. So good to see you, and so good you'll come again, and so wonderful to think of you next year.
O to be the littlest generation, squirreling hard pretzels into the attic window of the flower room, hiding in a book.
It's the end of an era. So the ones who will remember will remember death on TV, the noiseless way screens make everything present.
Of course it's October. The houses are decorated to death, the gravest jolly with bones, the skeleton mannequins.
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