Open to carving

July 10, 2011

He wondered how wind might shift the direction of things, sculpt paths differently, smooth the world’s edges. It seemed the only fair trade, he thought, as he walked headfirst into the pressure of air. If his eyes had to dry out until they ached, there ought to be a benefit, even if the change took years.

He was open to carving. He was open to gust-hewn paths that didn’t yet exist in this town where weather arrived brutishly, without apology.

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