The Faded River

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 21:51:38 -

The Faded River

The brass surveyor’s compass lay in my palm, cold and dead, its needle trembling like a leaf caught in a gale that had no wind. I sat on the rotting porch of the house, watching the fog roll off the river, thick as wool and tasting of rust, while the boundary stones I had placed that morning were already gone, swallowed by the mud as if the earth itself had opened its mouth to eat them. I am...

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