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August 14, 2003

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maggie

I remember the true gypsy soup
made in the camps around a fire when the wind was howling and the snowflakes flying
Everyone who had been out hawking or skimming the hedges, brought back whatever they had gathered during the day and it all went into the soup pot with river water or if that was not available plain old snow
If you had nothing to bring to the pot you popped in stones and sometimes stones and snow where what made up the soup, never tasted anything better, hunger tends to highlight all flavours

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