Old friends(Writers meet with Eric and Marcelle)
A bright October day. Along the road beetlebung trees were all shades of red. Swamp maples glowed. The pond was bluer than the sky and wrinkled only slightly when the wind passed over. Beneath lay mystery. The house was nestled into a mass of still green viburnum. Beyond, the hills were pastel-painted with reddish grass. ``We dug the clams for you.'' Eric pointed to the cove. ``And you'll have scallops, too.'' ``You just pick them right up, all you want,'' Marcelle explained. ``Like a garden you didn't even plant. Our first full year. Look! Purple asters by the path. They've come again like dear old friends.''