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Showing posts from January, 2016

The time of mangos.

I look back with nostalgia, to the time of mangos.

The time when he would buy mangos with perfectly purple skins. Ripe, soft mangos, with a skin so glued to the fruit it felt almost impossible to peel them. The sweet kind that would almost melt in your mouth like liquid honey.

And he stood there tall and well built, like those old fashioned noble men I read about in fairy tales, next to the cherry wood counters, slicing mangos for me. Spoiling me, every time I saw him.

I thought he was a God. A God I could easily believe in. A God with a round face and small, bright cheerful eyes. Soft handed, sharp tongued. Always one to tell a joke, and laugh at mine as if they made sense. I made no sense. But he was the kind of man who could make sense of anything. He was the kind of man, who could make anybody small feel big.

I would follow him around chatting endlessly, occasionally my mouth being busy with the sweet taste of mangos. That distinctive, exotic taste of summertime and mellow hap…