The Pale Meridian

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2026-08-18 17:25:37 -

The Pale Meridian

The leather was dry. It cracked at the knuckles. I held it for three days. It was a glove. Right hand. Calfskin. Pale as bone. I kept it in my pocket. My pocket was deep. The road was long. The road was hard. I walked. I did not stop. The wind cut. It cut through my coat. It cut through my skin. I felt the cold. I felt the weight. The glove weighed nothing. It weighed everything. It was my...

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