Photo by Wahyu Setiawan on Unsplash
Soft, moist, loamy soil,
Petrichor nests in my nose
Autumn’s aroma.
About the Creator
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A Love Forboding
The chipped stone slope caused unbearable footing. I slid, skirting on my heels. I cast my shield, relinquishing my guard to stay upright. Left with my double-edge and a prayer to the maker, I skated toward my objective. The earthly stubble gave way to solid ground. I found myself restored, a trail of dust in my wake.
By James U. Rizzi8 days ago in Fiction
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