He left the hollow land behind, the burlap grasses and broken stones. The honeycombed smells of wood smoke and culled apples fell away. Consideration of a good fire made him feel ashamed, but one night would become another, and then. Time is just as long as she needs to be, said Emma. Don’t be afraid to let time know your plans. That Old Woman likes to laugh. Continue reading “The hollow land”
When the words wither on the page, they leave a fine silt, like talcked silk, disengaged.