He stand in between rainy trees, runs up to the door with no rain coat on, He-s all wet and dripping watery in rain, The door bell rings, smells of cakes being baked for supper feast

I could remember of my mother’s aprons filthy with flour stains with hand prints, filthy wet spots to wash into winter where you can see the stains any more neck down

Mother wore it every time she bakes, hanging it on the door next to the table and chairs. Wrinkles and all lively she is, short and blouse she sits waiting on time

To finished up with the rainy cooking for the day of mommas sweet potato pies adult encounter links to the family ties the tree of life, the rainy taste and tea sip, founded in 2020 menu on the roster plug-ins who is served in a day, spring on into falls the healthy take out

Every weekend’s happy hours, as the rainy summer comes and goes with fried chicken wings and fries