Golden Honey Jars on a Sunny Counter in Sweetwater

pulled her green knitted shawl tight around her shoulders against the autumn chill, her fingers smoothing the corner of our new hand-painted sign.

“The color is right this time, Mabel,” she said, looking down at the rows of deep amber glass. “It doesn’t look like dishwater.”

“It’s the July wildflower run,” I said. “Nothing in there but what the bees continue reading …