The Grain of the Wood
The night air had the peculiar quality of swallowing sound whole. In the little farmhouse we’d inherited from my great-uncle, the silence was a living thing, pressing against the walls...
The night air had the peculiar quality of swallowing sound whole. In the little farmhouse we’d inherited from my great-uncle, the silence was a living thing, pressing against the walls...
Listening to the woods...
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