Courtesy of the Cliff House Project.
The sultry honey aroma of wild apple trees haunts you, while the darkness of a tangy spring fog envelops the world. Fragile pearl threads stretch from the sky, penetrating the warmth of your skin, leaving dusky traces on the defenseless clothes. You run away, seeking shelter, and return to the house, a black shadow looming over your silhouette, over the luscious garden, over the whole Earth.
Continue reading “A Haunted House”
The Waves of Poetry 