Inspiration hits with a flash, stories written on the go. A rumble of laughter and the tale is heard only in echoes. The wind blows me in a new direction. Whom shall I visit next?

Smoothing away soil, I caressed it; the eye followed me, studied me, compelled me faster.

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Burrowing tenderly with my hands, I could but adore this beast that had summoned me.

Underground Bethlehem

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  • Published 7 years ago.
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