Light years

The white birches flare in the sunlight, mute under passing clouds, rock toward one another, pull apart. Overhead, great clouds drift slowly to the rhythm of a breath so distant there are years between the breathing in and breathing out upon us all.

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...