Birches line the snow swept highway. Beyond my headlights they lurk, they leer. Bony fingers beckoning. I comply, listing to their arms.
Birches line the snow swept highway. Beyond my headlights they lurk, they leer. Bony fingers beckoning. I comply, listing to their arms.
2 Responses
I love the imagery in this tragic story.
Very evocative of the beauty and fear of night driving in the depth of winter. Well done!