The Distant Summer
The summer in that valley did not arrive so much as it was unearthed. It rose from the cistern behind the old mill like something buried under centuries of silt and memory — first a dampness in the walls, then a green exhalation from the drainage grates, then the sudden, inexplicable knowledge that somewhere past the birchwood line, the hedgerows had turned gold. Thomas Vane was the first to...
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