She wrestles with the funeral raven’s shades of black on glossy pinions, her widow’s weeds dulled by summer dust, drenched with sorrow and mistrust of every mourner around the grave of the man whose soul she could not save. Stifled sobs pulse in her throat prise open her lips and, with a croak of feathers […]
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
writing in north norfolk 