The Wistful Mountain
The rain had been falling for three days, a persistent, grey curtain that erased the sharp edges of the world and turned the small town of Oakhaven into a watercolor smear of wet stone and sodden foliage, and in the kitchen of the half-timbered house on the hill, Eleanor stood with her back to the window, her hands submerged in a basin of cold water, scrubbing the crust from a heavy ceramic pot...
0 Commenti 0 condivisioni 3 Views 0 Anteprima