Just as the sun strikes my face, in the corner of my eye a hawk sweeps into the woods. She ghosts past, flared tail orange among the leaves.
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Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow
Daily short takes from an Appalachian hollow
Just as the sun strikes my face, in the corner of my eye a hawk sweeps into the woods. She ghosts past, flared tail orange among the leaves.
Comments are closed.
This is exquisite.
Love the idea of writing from one’s front porch, something every day. (I found your blog via Hannah S./The Storialist!)
Hey, thanks for stopping by!