i wonder is it a little mouse in the mitten box
It was me, very young and quiet as a mouse, but a vivid memory. My father did what he had to do to provide food for his family.
A domestic tableau that parallels memories of my childhood too. We ate a lot of duck, chicken and pork. Only the dog, cats and horse got to have names --oh, and us.
I understand ... :)Mashed potatoes, unfortunately, are still my comfort food.
An intense memory of life at its fullest. Survival heightens our senses, emotions, and observations like no luxury ever could. I still choose to live this way. And yes, in some form, it is poetic.
I think it is very poetic ... :)
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