the hills sang from mouths that were half-overgrown with lichen and moss. trees were in number along the ridge. down from the hawk nest in the tall pine, sloping at degrees from its point of departure, the sound of it wafted. the mouth of a cave with its wetness and teeth. the tongue of the cave sliding back along the glands. a tonal pitch of some vocal expression without larynx or throat only a thousand small openings spread over the terrain in ditches and swamps and marshes.
I write short stories. This is my blog. I'm going to write whatever.