A Harvest to Remember
Wicht | January 19, 2010
They say a girl always remembers her first time.
It was autumn and I was sixteen years of age. The smell of summer haying had been replaced with that of ripened apples. Our livestock had been moved out of the grazing fields and nearer the barns. Churlwood was bathed in a blanket of golden crimson and the promise of winter was heavy in the morning air. It was my favorite season and Lamashan was my favorite month; I wanted to make it a harvest to remember.
>>>>>><<<<<< (more…)