The Wistful Mountain

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 20:20:02 -

The fog came in early. It swallowed the pines. It swallowed the road. It swallowed us. We stood on the porch. The air was cold. It bit. It stung. It did not care. I watched it move. It moved like a living thing. It had weight. It had breath. It was hungry. My husband, Thomas, stood behind me. He held his hat. His hands were still. He always was still. He was the rock. I was the wind. We knew...

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