Michael Oberschewen
Joined July 2021
2 stories
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The Golden Shore
They met where their farms did, in a meadow of gold, dotted with dandelions and sprinkled with marigold blooms. Past the farthest ear of corn or stalk of wheat, the meadow hid. And on this meadow grew a spot where the earth bubbled but never broke. And on this hill grew the steadfast behemoth of branch and bark. And after their work was done, they would join together every day at the base of the sturdy oak on the hill. And they danced.
By Michael Oberschewen4 years ago in Fiction
