The Distant Affair

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 18:07:51 -

The orchard is dying. I see it every morning. The leaves turn black at the edges. They curl. They drop. The apples are small. They taste of rust. My father says the soil is tired. He says the earth has given too much. It has nothing left to give. He speaks to the dirt as if it were a person. He pats the clods. He whispers. I do not whisper. I count. I count the coins in my purse. I count the...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews