Seasons of thanks and anticipation

Post 45/2023. Sunday. It's snowing. I'm burning a soy wax candle in a jar, called "Grandma's Garden." No distinctive scent stands out, though Marty came wondering where the strange, sweet smell was coming from. Maybe the candle's more about memories than smell. Memories of flower beds. Lettuce. Potatoes. Tomatoes. Onions. Carrots. Peas. Strawberries. Raspberries. Fruit …

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