I walked home as the clouds gathered, past a deep green tree full of shiny, bright-red cherries, and the house was hot and damp, so I opened all the doors and the wind came in and scoured out all the corners and then the rain hit, all at once, slashing against the windows and flooding the gutters, and lightning flashed and thunder ripped slowly through the clouds, echoing and creaking and groaning, and we sat on the porch, all worn wood and cracked paint, old and solid and true, and drank cold beer out of the fridge, and talked about trees.
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AuthorBitter Water
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. Archives
June 2019
Categories© Francie Nevill and Every Sweet Thing, 2017.
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