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Chapters of life

A small village,

Oued-Roumane, a small town,  so well hidden among grooves of grapes on the vines, fig trees with syrupy fruits, pomegranates, apples and pears trees with houses  surrounded by small bosky thickets, and that we can barely  discern, from a distance, the terra-cotta tiled roofs, with  white-washed  limestone walls, the  nested houses between the abounding greenery. The thoroughfares bordered by rows of oranges, lemon and olive-trees,  cactus of Barbary, and  a rustic stone-house in front, bordered by rows of flowers as a fence, with a gate always wide open for the passer by traveler, inviting  you to come in and drench your thirst from the well nearby, and there is always a loaf of bread, still hot steaming, just pulled from the rustic adobe oven; that what the house of my grandparents was, in Algeria.

                                                              To be  continued…


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