Memory

Here, Spring's hot breath has already ripened the Silver Queen. Beneath a jade jacquard husk is a kimono of tasseled silk. Parted strands reveal the smile of a mysterious woman, row after row of perfect white teeth. I smile, remembering the perfect white hot summer day we shared. The brown coolness and stuccoed stillness of Andrew Wyeth's house, romanticized the rustic perfection of his work.

Outside, the green murmur of trees, the beige rustle of extravagant weeds embellished the banks of the Brandywine. Around the river curve, liquid music hummed out of sight. The angled light of afternoon framed a field of Silver Queen waiting to be picked.

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