The Distant Cartograph
The ice did not break; it simply ceased to exist, dissolving into the black water of the St. Lawrence with a silence so profound it felt like a theft. One moment, the world was a rigid geometry of blue and white, a fortress of cold that held the weight of our existence; the next, the hull groaned, a low, tectonic moan that vibrated through the soles of my boots and into the marrow of my bones,...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 1 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen