Beneath a stone bridge once destroyed by a Civil War Army, the river slicks like cold scummy coffee, lifting a trailing branch in a salute to dusk.
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A look at what interests me and keeps me sane in rural West Wales.
Firelight will not let you to read fine stories but it will warm you and you won't see the dust on the floor.
I can see from this, BB, that you too are enjoying a river of stones.
ReplyDeleteI am indeed. I've just noted down today's contribution!
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