The wind keeps howling, dragging the laden branches of the old olive trees to the ground. As it huffs and puffs, it mops away the rain streaks, further west, farther and farther still.
Tag Archives: short-story
Summer in Details: Fragments of Time
Sitting with the weight of a year passed, I bite into a peach, and as I trail the juice from my hand to my elbow, I try to ground myself. My hands are sticky, and I wipe them on my shirt, leaving a blotchy stain on my ribs.
