The Wistful Dinner
The hand is a thing of bone and tendon. It holds the shovel. It holds the clay. It holds the weight of the world. I am Thomas. I am a clerk. I sit at a desk. I stamp papers. The ink is black. The paper is white. The day is gray. But here, in the wild, the hand is different. Here, it digs. Here, it finds. We are on the road. The road is old. It winds through the hills. The air is cold. The air...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima