I am going to write a story of some variety, long or short, fictitious or factual, every single day for a year. Wish me luck.
Monday, 3 December 2012
Cheri, il a neigé
We knew it from the way the light came in. Cold and white like milk. We knew it from the way the only sound we could hear was birdsong, solemn and far away. It is something you feel in your bones.
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