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April 21, 2013
Thinking about what's changed with each passing year. First there was the smoke from the immense incense burner on Castle Hill, sun baked clay. Thinking about Georges, who had left on a ship. I was busy as a seamstress. The next year was filled with the cold dampness from home, and the lulling realization that despite economic conditions I'd need to do something--which ended up being preparing the market displays--carefully arranging oranges. Another year of that followed. Then I found myself doing fairly well, making trade agreements with Stone Sept. I still think about Georges, awaiting someone else.