Victor L. Cuenca
Joined June 2021
3 stories
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Annie
The wood creaks as I step into the barn. The fall breeze is colder than usual this year. August in Texas is usually hot, humid… unbearable. But today, the wind blows in such a soothing manner. The air flows into my lungs, filling them with cold bliss. A few tree branches strike against the fading red paint of the old barn tapping rhythmically, peacefully. I take a sip of that chamomile tea, sweetened with that good natural honey from the white rundown boxes in the garden. The striking contrast of the cold wind and the hot tea feels so right. The smell of winter peaking it’s head through the somewhat still green trees. The few leaves that have started to fall now dance around in front of the door.
By Victor L. Cuenca5 years ago in Fiction
