When summer was coming to an end, I returned to my hometown. My mother's grave was on a hill behind the town overlooking the orchard.When she passed away, the orchard had not yet become successful. The trees had only been planted for 2 years. Their branches were thin and would bend whenever the wind blew.Now the orchard was filled with tall trees, their branches heavy with bright red, juicy cherries. She would have been happy to see it.I stood quietly in front of her grave. The wind carried the scent of soil and grass from the orchard below, mixed with the faint smell of burning straw nearby. I placed a basket of cherries in front of her headstone.My mother loved cherries when she was alive, but the orchard had only just begun back then, and we needed every dollar we could earn. The best cherries were always sold. She wanted the family to make more money, so she always picked the smallest ones for herself, even the cherries that birds had pecked at.Now that the orchard was do
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