Creative Writing: Audiobooks

The Ancestors

Come out into the garden, someone says. It’s almost seven and the table is laid. Yes come. Evening wind is cooling the trees, and we are here, whispering over the rim. See, your mother staring out through the eyes of your son. Your niece hands you a peach with her grandfather’s hands. And the little ones chase each other, just like you and your brother, only you two had the run of the beach and the sea. A right pair of water babies, your own gran used to say. Oh, those long days! And the fire by night and the…

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