Golden Honey Jars on a Sunny Counter in Sweetwater

shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders despite the afternoon sun shining through the plate glass.

“The doctor says his throat is still raw, Mabel,” she said, her schoolteacher voice quiet and precise. “But the honey from that last jar did not soothe him at all.”

I kept my hand in my lap, rubbing my thumb to hide the stiffness in my fingers.

“I am continue reading …