(no subject)
*has been cooking again, after bringing in cherries from the cherry trees and deciding on a whim to make varenyky -- perhaps it's careless of him, for he doesn't think of where the flour comes from and whether it ought to be rationed, but it's an innocent, open-hearted sort of impulse, and it would be spoiled with too much worrying. he only takes a few for himself, anyway -- and a few more to give to a 'dear friend' -- the rest go into the refrigerator for storage and, he fancies, for anyone who would help themselves to them. as he walks, he tastes one, and the filling's sour-sweet and warm.*