Strawberry Moon
Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep
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The Clean Slate of Water
When I buy a carton of strawberries in February, my almost always regret it. But these ones that I'd picked myself from the patch on my allotment smell more like strawberries than those others had ever tasted. They were small about the size of the end of my thumb and they were soft and meant to be enjoyed as soon as they ripened. The clockwork was missing a few pieces and had to be taken apart, come completely, cleaned and clocked cleaning fluid - but it ran perfectly now.
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