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High Country

The tang of crowberries and storm clouds sieved through wind and limestone sheep’s piss and heather. Beneath the high rock, ravens spiral, swoop through a flying sky. This is my land, this moment I declare myself the very image of the One image, magnified, upright, somewhere between a wind-blown gnat and the rocketing reach of a reckless God.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2022




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