Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

of the property. The sun was dipping below the ridge, casting long, dark shadows across the rows of glass houses. Through the padlocked iron gate, I could see the pots of yellow and bronze autumn chrysanthemums sitting on the outdoor benches, their heavy heads drooping slightly from the evening chill.

I reached out and touched the cold iron of the gate,continue reading …