Nostalgia and the Daisy Chain


Childhood summers spent in a small, quaint rural town.

Hot days spent frolicking about with the local kids in the river.

Long walks to the Ferry Bridge orchid to gather our days stash of big, black juicy plums.

Horse treks across the countryside on a mission of discovery.

One of our favourite places to hang out was atop a small hill that looked over the general store.

Unnoticed, we could peek down at the comings and goings at this favorite local hub.

We listened in to the gossip and would occasionally throw small rocks down at the cars below just to be cheeky.

But for the most part, we would lie in the lush grass, making daisy chains and chatting about things that mattered to us.





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