<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<rss version="2.0">
	<channel>
		<title>thegreycat | WritersCafe.org</title>
		<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/lefeufollet</link>
		<description>The original writings of author thegreycat</description>
		<language>en-us</language>
		<copyright>Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org</copyright>
		<lastBuildDate>1776069698</lastBuildDate>
		<generator>WritersCafe.org RSS Generator</generator>
		<ttl>15</ttl>
		<item>
			<title>Sugar</title>
			<description>Remember that time you made me swallow a teaspoon of sugar? I never realised that something so sweet could be repulsive. That was also the day you told me that if I never learned to swim then I would surely die because just as a newborn yearns to suckle warm milk, girls who lived next to still..</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lefeufollet/1297806/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>The Fig Tree</title>
			<description>My mother loved the fig tree. Every year she would quietly anticipate the mauve pouches ripening and the blush flesh honey sweet. She ate as many as she could during its harvest, a fig with breakfast, lunch and dinner and two afterwards. With the ones she could not consume fresh, she turned ..</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lefeufollet/1294654/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Le Feu Follet</title>
			<description>She felt empty, a vessel (if this was what it felt like to be human, how could so many people want to exist?)She was captivated by simple, pure moments in time: watching a kettle boil, the dance of sunlight across water, listening to Erik Satie; if she could just live her life in these indiffe..</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lefeufollet/1294649/</link>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Antlers</title>
			<description>When Cecilia awoke on Thursday morning, she felt a peculiar weight at the top of her head. She got out of bed and walked over to the portrait sized mirror atop the oaken drawers. Protruding from Cecilia's black hair were two antlers. She raised a hand and ran her fingertips deftly, carefully, ..</description>
			<image></image>
			<link>http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/lefeufollet/1294645/</link>
		</item>
	</channel>
</rss>