Confessions of a disbeliever

When you walk alone wind tries to tell you something: whispers grass makes, the semaphore of leaves. In the dust dark grains rearrange themselves in patterns you could read if someone helped you solve the code. Lines move across the field - wheat wise enough to survive pharoah's tomb. Or across coyote's fur where she sleeps and waits for the moon when she can join her friends to sing all the world's secrets just beyond the edge of town.

About these ads
Sponsored Content by LockerDome

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...

Loading...

Save for later

Save
Cancel

Saved ( of items)

This item has been saved to read later from any device.
Access saved items through your user name at the top of the page.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You reached the limit of 20 saved items.
Please visit following link to manage you saved items.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You have already saved this item.

View Saved Items

OK