Meet me, meet me whisper the waters from the train window and the small skiff adrift with its passenger, oarless, being pulled in by some destination, delicate, a blossom on the wing of the swollen waters.
Want to keep reading? Subscribe and save nearly 40%.
We reached the car, and I held the door open for him, but he didn't climb in right away. He stood there rocking on his crutch, gazing off at the sky and the fields and the fall trees starting to go the color of sherbet