And so it was that the gully washer came with due warning. Falling off old tin roofs, the rain cut white lines through the sky. Around a red, rusted water tower, the staccato chalk marks swirled through the tower's red, rusted appendages, each wrapped delicately with lazy kudzu. No longer squinting from the noon sun, I breathed deeply - it smelled
(
Read more... )
Comments 3
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment