<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rdf:RDF xmlns="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:sy="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/syndication/" xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#"><channel rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/BlogRss.aspx/Rach06028127"><title>A View into my soul - Blogit</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/Rach06028127/</link><description>These are short stories that I have written, some are rough drafts. Some have been edited.</description><sy:updatePeriod>hourly</sy:updatePeriod><sy:updateFrequency>1</sy:updateFrequency><sy:updateBase>2000-01-01T12:00+00:00</sy:updateBase><items><rdf:Seq><rdf:li resource="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/Rach06028127/546721" /></rdf:Seq></items></channel><item rdf:about="https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/Rach06028127/546721"><title>The Last Letter</title><link>https://www.blogit.com/Blogs/Blog.aspx/Rach06028127/546721</link><description>I remember the day Madeline Wallace came to sunny oaks retirement home. She arrived in June, she brought along a few personal affects, nothing that stood out except a box of old yellowed letters and a moth eaten velvet burgundy dress. Her great niece, Betty, had brought her. She was no longer...</description></item></rdf:RDF>