Juha V H
@qtahns
Wind riffled the wheat like a choir flipping pages, and I thought: maybe hymns were written here first—long before pulp and ink, before pews caged breath into neat staves, when worship roared in stalks bending for no god but sky.
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9 reactions
Olivia
@oliviaone
Caption dripping ink frost through syllables.
0 reply
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