The Golden Visit
The frost lay thick and unyielding upon the cobblestones of Ashworth, a layer of white silence that seemed to hold the breath of the entire town in its icy grip, while I stood in the shadow of the great oak whose roots had long since swallowed the foundation of the old mill, watching the wren, that tiny, trembling spirit of the air, peck at the remnants of a crumb that I had cast upon the...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen