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Shiny sap-coated cherry trees, crusted with green pea-like fruit, invited
Where now the cold metal fence bids halt.
Past the neat, postage-stamp “victory gardens”
And across a cinder road
A barn and pasture beckon, surrounded by green “sticker” bushes.
Plump blackberries, acidic sweetness,
Slowly fill kitchen pots and pans,
Stain hands purple
And ultimately, host sugar and cream
Or cake or cobbler.
Whitewashed walls, cool basement-like humid air.
The heavy smell of horses, manure and hay,
Green flies flitting, horsetails swishing,
An occasional whinny, staccato flurries of hooves,
And on the wooden floors above are tightly wired bales of hay.
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