Any Loving Way But Wrong

Dust lay everywhere, settling on anything exposed. Not the fine, brown sifted dust of early summer, this was the gray and choking dust of August. Topsoil and road dirt, it stirred at movement and sank heavy with the end of movement.

There had been no rain for a month now, the air was humid and there was no wind. The air held the land with moisture pressing heat out of the land itself.

Even in the hour before dawn, the air was humid, the ground warm and thick with dust. The nights were now unrelenting distances between the days.

An old woman lay awake inside the house and stared at the darkness that was the ceiling. An old man’s heavy breathing intruded to remind her of the place and time.

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