The Wistful Incense
The oak tree stands in the center of the courtyard. It has been there since before the stone walls rose. Since before the first ledger was bound. It is old. Its bark is deep furrowed skin. It holds its breath. You do not see it at first. You see the dust. You see the gray light filtering through the high, arched windows of the Ministry of Records. You see the rows of desks. You see the ink. You...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 1 Views 0 Anteprima