The narrow bed with its purple, red, and green quilt, the bedside table with its jar of rocks, piled books. The porcelain basin near the window where she washed her face, the pitcher with the brown rose painted on it, the large crack like a vein in the bottom of the basin. The apricot orchard, the buzzing bees like a haze in spring. The barn – the smell of hay and manure, grease, old leather. The sun streaming through the slats. The mule’s nose in her palm.
-Amanda Coplin
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