Returned, her voice like wintered leaves. Tweet
It was probably shame that kept Harper from ever speaking to Anders again. Anders’ voice never returned properly, not that he missed it all that much. The Young Man they met that day was one of many Young Men, all immaculately turned out in olden-day-suits.
He knows he should be heading home. The light is failing. He glances up through the branches at the sky. His mother will be worried sick. His father is dead. It was during the cold autumn, when his people had been hungry. Their game had
She looked up. And smiled. She liked sitting under the tree. It was constant, always varying, but somehow never changing. She could feel the rough bark against her back through the cotton shirt and it was comforting, a familiar coarse pressure. Her year was ending
The man sat down and took off his hat to reveal a head of thinning white hair. He looked up through the branches at the clear sky, then put on a pair of reading glasses, and started working on the crossword in the morning paper.
Windswept Branches, originally uploaded by Nick Papaconstantinou. Tweet
She was watching Jimmy Stewart when he spoke. “How many times have you seen this movie?” he asked. He lounged against the doorway, a paperback book hanging in his grip, like a caught bird, defeated. He lolled his head, knocking his temple repeatedly against the