In summertime, writing the summer days that were. I've just reread Rumer Godden's exquisite The Greengage Summer, sunshot, drenched with nostalgia and the taste of the ripe greengages. For me it was apricots, and I've strung a hammock between two big apricot trees in a story (half finished) about the first moon walk and the summer day in Santa Fe when the child I was then watched the broadcast.
image: E. Phillips Fox, A Love Story
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