The Golden Echoes
You are standing in the mud, the kind of wet, sucking earth that clings to your boots like a guilty secret, and the rain is not falling so much as it is being erased from the sky, a fine, gray static that blurs the line between the horizon and the puddles at your feet. You are alone, or at least you are alone in the way that matters, separated from the noise of the news feeds and the sterile...
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