Photo by Aleksandr Buynitskiy on Unsplash
the mirror fogs up
I wipe a circle clear
then let it close again
About the Creator
J.M.
Addicted to words and the absurdities of life.
The Blue Ridge Stalker
Tom had left the Ford down the way, its spark plugs finally exhausted and no mechanics for a dozen miles back through the foothills to Strossburg. No matter, he had worn his boots—almost as if he planned for this to happen. The puzzle he sought to solve emanated from the woods clinging to the slopes above; the valley behind held no mysteries.
By Stephen A. Roddewig7 days ago in Fiction
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