a fleeting ripple

The silence right before the dawn is intoxicating, even the cicadas have stopped. Not a single sound is audible, not a single soul is...

Roar of the engine and the buzz of the tires on asphalt fill your ears. The window is down, the warm wind slaps your face, tangles your...

Bugs of the night chirp outside, like the static of the television. Otherwise, it’s quiet under the ancient olive trees. Maybe they’re...