rock of ages

The pretty little “twenty something” that was taking delivery of my cheeses at the farmer’s market held up a Hay Jude for inspection, “So these are the aged ones,”she said.

“No” I replied – “not aged – ripened”.

“Aged, ripened, what’s the difference?” she asked.

As I looked upon her lovely countenance, all well reasoned thought abandoned me.

“I, am” I said “aged – while you are….well ripened”. Her broad smile made it clear she understood.

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