The Wistful Petal
The rain in the Pacific Northwest does not fall so much as it accumulates, a slow, gray sediment that settles into the pores of your skin and the lining of your lungs, a pervasive moisture that turns the world into a damp, breathing membrane. I stood at the edge of the timber line, my boots sinking into the spongy loam, watching the mist curl around the black trunks of the Douglas firs, my...
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