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It might be the brilliant yellow of turmeric boiled into salted potatoes, washed down with the brown of peppermint tea. Or the intoxicating fragrance, when we are hungry enough, of simple spices. Cinnamon and cloves, in another dish of oatmeal. Outside the house, across the street, the neighbors' children scream happily into the warm night, where the first fireflies begin to appear.
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May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 12:29 PM UTC
A Poet's Food
It might be the brilliant yellow of turmeric boiled into salted potatoes, washed down with the brown of peppermint tea. Or the intoxicating fragrance, when we are hungry enough, of simple spices. Cinnamon and cloves, in another dish of oatmeal. Outside the house, across the street, the neighbors' children scream happily into the warm night, where the first fireflies begin to appear.
FrancescaRegan
Written by
May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 12:29 PM UTC
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