The Distant Threshold

added blog Literature

2026-08-17 11:02:17 -

The moth was dead. It lay on the edge of my desk, its wings crumpled like wet paper, one antenna snapped at the joint. I had been watching it for three days. It had landed on the cold steel of the radiator, and I had thought, at first, that it was a small bird. A sparrow, perhaps, that had lost its way in the fog. But it did not fly. It just trembled, a faint, desperate vibration in the air,...

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