​One Day, Three Autumns

August 11, 2017

You trace your fingers along the rough wooden edge of the seat, the branch above protesting each movement with the creaking of an old man’s bones. It seems as though everything on this hill is past its prime – the frayed rope of the swing digs into your palms like needles; the ground beneath your feet is cracked and dusty. With one hand, you frame the night sky, finding with dismay that even the stars seem to have left your once-idyllic spot on the hill, blown away with only a gentle breeze. Maybe, you think to yourself, you shouldn’t have come back here in the first place.


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  • August 11, 2017 - 5:43pm (Now Viewing)

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