Photo by Masi on Pexels.com Once I held a map. Its thin, crinkled form could be carried on the wind, yet, it anchored me to a path of stone, straight and true. As my steps traced those sturdy ways, I unfolded those creased edges - well-pressed trees, sharp and foreign. Then, sought high, low, above, … Continue reading Eulogy for the 39th Hour
Author: Josh Murray
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