The Faded River
The sycamore tree in the front yard is dying, and you know it in the way you know the tide is turning, not by looking at the water, but by the salt taste on your lips. It is a slow, terrible rot, starting from the roots and working its way up into the high branches, a silent fire that eats the wood without heat. You have been in this town of Ashford for three years, long enough to learn the...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 2 Views 0 Anteprima