Cassie sat on the floor of the sleeping porch on an old patchwork quilt. Colors and ...

(Cassie sat on the floor of the sleeping porch on an old patchwork quilt. Colors and shapes without names looked up at her. That the quilt was one of three that her grandmother had worked for Clio ...) Cassie sat on the floor of the sleeping porch on an old patchwork quilt. Colors and shapes without names looked up at her. That the quilt was one of three that her grandmother had worked for Clio for her wedding, she did not know. Nor that it had been a place keeper for four other small damp packages of flesh like hers. She knew soft, and somewhere in her mind a word was forming for the smell of the quilt. Her own smell mixed with the smell of Clio's lye scrubbed pine floors, the beloved aroma of the dog and the general odor of food and sweat and work that was the family. Her mother's smell was not on the quilt. Perhaps just a trace. That smell of lilac water and soap from the store. Woman damp and pie crusts. "What you doing honey?" A voice from above. Cassie focused her eyes on Nellie's round face and blonde hair and her own face opened up. "Oh look at her smile." said Nellie. "You sure are a pretty little thing. Look like your momma don't you with them eyes. Daddy always said ...

09:46:23 December 18, 2003, Thursday (PST) Source: Quin Withey's Radio Weblog

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