Pictures are nice, they put faces to names and stories, but they aren't the be all and end all. The important act is the repeating of the stories, the memory, the sharing of it, or so he thinks. Those are what keep people alive in the hearts of those that come after.
They've not known each other long, hardly any time at all, and the times he's met Rosita they've talked seriously, and she's been sometimes a little reserved. So he's not expecting her to stick out her tongue like that, a wonderful impression of a mule, and he can't help but laugh as she smiles. That is clearly all part of the story.
"I can't help but think Guapo and Humberto were a well-matched pair. All the donkeys I've ever known have had mischief in mind."
He's not sure if there is more to her story, but he thinks he has something he can tell her, something in a similar vein.
"My grandmother- we called her Nani, because she was Welsh- she had this little cottage on a hillside in the middle of nowhere. The hills around were covered in scrub, heather and thorn bushes, and you couldn't grow anything. But she had this little garden at the back, with flowers and vegetables and whatnot, and she'd spend every sunny moment out there, messing around with something, weeding something else, or talking to her bees."
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Date: 2022-11-09 10:56 am (UTC)They've not known each other long, hardly any time at all, and the times he's met Rosita they've talked seriously, and she's been sometimes a little reserved. So he's not expecting her to stick out her tongue like that, a wonderful impression of a mule, and he can't help but laugh as she smiles. That is clearly all part of the story.
"I can't help but think Guapo and Humberto were a well-matched pair. All the donkeys I've ever known have had mischief in mind."
He's not sure if there is more to her story, but he thinks he has something he can tell her, something in a similar vein.
"My grandmother- we called her Nani, because she was Welsh- she had this little cottage on a hillside in the middle of nowhere. The hills around were covered in scrub, heather and thorn bushes, and you couldn't grow anything. But she had this little garden at the back, with flowers and vegetables and whatnot, and she'd spend every sunny moment out there, messing around with something, weeding something else, or talking to her bees."