The Distant Promise
The rain does not fall so much as it is pressed into the earth, a heavy, grey curtain that blurs the distinction between the mud and the stone, the sky and the road. You walk with the rhythmic, heavy tread of a man who has forgotten how to be light, your boots sinking into the wet clay of the ancient pass, the sound of your own breathing loud in your ears, a wet, rattling thing that echoes off...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews