The Faded Photograph
The mud sucked at my boots with a wet, rhythmic pull as I dug. My hands were numb, the cold of the October rain seeping through the leather of my gloves, but the tremor in my fingers was not from the temperature. It was from the weight of the task assigned to me by Dr. Aris, the regional director of the Department of Forestry and Urban Ecology. He had called it a verification of resilience. I...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen