Golden Honey Jars on a Sunny Counter in Sweetwater

David was cleaning the frames with a hand scraper.

His blue baseball cap was pulled low over his eyes, his forehead damp with sweat from the afternoon heat.

“Arthur is pushing the new labels,” I said, setting one of the sample jars on his wooden workbench.

David laid his scraper down, his short, direct sentences always bringing me back to earth. “He is continue reading …