The Wistful Silence

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2026-08-20 11:41:09 -

"You look like a ghost." I didn't turn. I kept my eyes on the wet gravel. The rain in Ohio was different than in Dublin. Heavier. It didn't mist. It fell. It hit you. It wanted to bury you. "Is that a compliment?" I asked. My voice was thin. Dry. Like old paper. "It’s an observation," he said. We stood by the fence. The corn was dead. Brown. Rotting in the rows. The air smelled of mud and...

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