A Greenhouse in Late September and the Harvest That Saved My Husband

door shut, the latch clicking home with a solid, iron sound. I slipped the padlock through the iron hasp and turned the key, hearing the tumbler fall into place.

The brass key was heavy in my pocket as I stood on the gravel path. The sorrow of what we had lost was there, a quiet, permanent weight in the corner of my mind, but it was a weight we could continue reading …