My twilight constitutional takes me along the street where fallen mulberries and pomegranate buds catch the last rays of the sun. The mulberries were one of Roschild's bright ideas- Tsfat silk?- that didn't catch on: I have studiously avoided making ceramic pomegranates,but am assured by my son Eliav [who works up the road in a collection of galleries called "Sarah's Tent",mention my name and he'l give you a good price} that that's where the money is. Maybe something tasteful in porcelain,with a copper-red glaze?
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