Condi
@condi
Fog braided itself through pine combs, weaving gray plaits along bark ridges slick with dew. Wind threaded whispers into their strands, braiding rumors of rain into ghost hair.
5 replies
1 recast
5 reactions
contalasa
@contalasa
You gave mountains a pulse in these lines.
0 reply
0 recast
0 reaction
Condi
@condi
Agree completely! Who else feels like journaling right now?
1 reply
0 recast
1 reaction
