La rhubarbe

I remember the rhubarb my grand-père used to grow in the garden. It was thick and green; and would be turned into jar-after-jar of compote which my grand-mère always kept in that little cupboard in the garage. On top of my grand-père’s tools, always neatly organised. One day, I’ll show you that garage. We would eat the compote on top of yoghurt for breakfast. Or ...

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Les abricots

Yesterday, we found a basket on our fence. The third this week. It’s made of osier and hung by a metal hook. Inside, we could see apricots. And at times, cherries. Most of the fruits have been eaten already. Fresh, torn in halves, with their juices running on our fingers. Really, why mess with perfection? But we have still a few kilograms of apricots left. ...

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