• 3 months ago
All my childhood passed with my grandmother. In the middle of spring, she would say, "My daughter, the trees have blossomed. Go collect the blossoms so we can make jam."
We would take a handwoven cloth to the yard, spread it under the bitter orange trees, collect the blossoms with hands full of bitter orange blossoms, wearing necklaces made from bitter orange blossoms, and return home.
Now, for several years, the orange trees blossom every year, but you're not here (Grandmother).
We were having a good time; I don't know why we suddenly grew up...

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