Vassilis

The grapes were ripe again on the northwest corner of our farm. I showed them to a friend. Wise old men, I said, use the blood to color their homemade wine. Hearing this, he smiled. Across the way, we kicked clods in the neighbors’ open ground. I told him
of the time their house burned down. Now, their breakfast light was on.



Library Notes: From “A New Variorum Edition of Shakespeare”: King John; Anthony and Cleopatra; The Merchant of Venice; As You Like It.