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Here is the photograph and my story:
Sometimes we’d sit on the bench. Saul would tell me everything he knew about vineyards and landscaping. He was especially attuned to new sprouting grasses promising spring. That was his favorite season.
When the grapes were being harvested or the vines seemed dead in hibernation, we’d sit and he’d take deep draws from his cigar. Everything smelled earthy. Now and then a whiff of green would catch in the air.
“I married her at the Vernal Equinox,” he said one day. “She was all aflutter with flowered crown and rosy cheeks.”
Everything dead around us breathed.