In my memories of faded amber carpeting and the smell of white wine, I see my grandpa. A raspy, "Hel-lo, Dolly!" accompanies the wrinkled warmth of his kiss on my cheek and the comforting hollow of his hug. My grandpa. I find him in peeling paint chips and in the taste of earth and ripe tomatoes. He is standing by the door of his garden shed, a
(
Read more... )
Comments 2
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment