Things look different from the other side of the hill. The green green grass rolls under fences, the sun burns a soft hot, and you can reach out and touch the split of horizon. And you think that behind you the mountain will hide where you’ve been but the land fans away in clear view and your footprints have blown from the sand.
Flash Fiction Fridays
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"I will breakfast from the cupboard where uneaten dreams are kept"
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"I foresee the successful future of a very mediocre society."
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