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Hanging Laundry This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

By KittyKate, Philadelphia, PA

The summers at my grandmother’s house in Canada were always filled with beauty. The ambitious grass of the two and a half acre lot would rustle and swing with the passing of a breeze and soaked up the nourishing warmth of the sun. Sitting serenely on the border of the property was a gently sloped mountain that never failed to burst into a breathtaking display of green aspens, oaks and maples. The wood-paneled cottage itself was a well-loved, red, sanctuary that housed 19th century hand-made snowshoes and a satellite T.V. It was bordered on one side by rolling flowerbeds and an open, green yard on the other. The tiger lilies, black-eyed susans and roses, though beautiful, forced the lavender to spill out onto the grassy walkway and the sunflowers to stand at attention.

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