Sketch

The thought of summer evenings brings again to me the smell of cool sweet air filtering though the dust of the day. I hear again the suppertime and the clatter of the bucket against the side of the well. I remember the voice of Johnny's mother calling him up the hill and Rags' excited bark as he came in the gate. And though it all was the friendly banter around the supper table, where we drank tall glasses of cool milk out of an immense green earthenwere pictcher.
                                                                                    Elizabeth Hinze (aka Grandma Betty)