Klisto summer

Previously

…I went inside and started the oven. The turkey thighs were still in the freezer, wrapped in brown paper. I thawed them in the sink, watching the water run pink and clear. My grandmother's recipe called for salt, pepper, garlic, and a patience I had never fully learned. But today I would learn it. Today I would roast them slowly, until the skin crackled and the meat fell from the bone. Outside, the yellow threads began to hum. The sound was like a thousand voices singing in a language I almost understood. I closed the oven door and waited.