Confession
June 12, 2009
At the start of the longest continuous slope (in England) I would carefully and quickly pluck a whole rose and hold it in my hand. Inhale the perfume and, once past the houses, peel each calamine pink petal from its base and let it fall to the ground.
The petals followed me like footprints and a jury of bees would have found me guilty.
It was wrong and I apologise.
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