Fourteen Years

Sparkbrook 1 He's stirring the soup in a pan on the stovetop. He slips the spoon under water and lifts out a slice of carrot, a bit of celery, some herbs and a few droplets of oil as they spread across the surface. He blows across the spoon, then sips at the contents. Sparkbrook 2 Postcards stacked in a loose heap. There are no sawmills round here. But there are memories. Sparkbrook 3 February is the driest month. It still rains, but less than in August. Perhaps it's too late to move south. We talked about Tunisia. Socialist paradise. Well, a holiday escape from Belgrade for a little girl. How are the fish? The shad run, the little grills set up on the shore. Torches and lanterns rising and falling with the boats scattered refelctions off the water. A quiet celebration.