The harvest was over. Even the scythe had not been mine. I had nowhere to go.
In the evening I found a girl lying on the ground like a sheaf of wheat, radiant and silent. When I bent over her she was watching me, smiling.
The harvest was over. Even the scythe had not been mine. I had nowhere to go.
In the evening I found a girl lying on the ground like a sheaf of wheat, radiant and silent. When I bent over her she was watching me, smiling.
Rachel Cusk photo courtesy the author.
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