Les abricots

Yesterday, we found a basket on our fence. The third this week. It’s made of osier and hung by a metal hook. Inside, we could see apricots. And at times, cherries. Most of the fruits have been eaten already. Fresh, torn in halves, with their juices running on our fingers. Really, why mess with perfection? But we have still a few kilograms of apricots left. ...

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