Rafia sat at my table, silent and sullen. She had finished husking the ground cherries and was now shredding the papery casings.
“I hope you plan to sweep the floor when you are done littering it,” I said.
She looked up, her face pinched. “Today is the autumn equinox,” she said.
“Is it?” The leaves were starting to turn, and the air tasted crisp and sweet rather than wet and loamy. “And so?” Continue reading