The Wistful Witness

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 09:05:27 -

The rain fell in sheets, gray and cold, against the stone of the caravan. I sat inside the wagon, watching the mud slide past the wheel. My hands were still. They had been still for three days. Before this, they were never still. They worked the leather. They cut the hide. They stitched the thread. Now they lay in my lap, pale and useless. I was a shoemaker. I had been a shoemaker for forty...

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