The Wistful Voyage

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 19:16:06 -

The dream always began with the smell of wet stone and iron. I was standing in the nave of St. Jude’s, but the pews were empty, and the air was thick with a grey mist that tasted of salt. I was not the priest; I was the carpenter, or rather, the man who had built the choir loft. I remembered the grain of the oak, the way it had resisted my chisel, the way it had bled sap when I forced the...

0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews