By: Ken Eberhart In his notebook, he wrote a single word, heard spoken in the wind along the cliffs. From the organic treasure of the trees, he crushed peaches in the palm of his hand. The pit was sweet to taste,…
By: Ken Eberhart In his notebook, he wrote a single word, heard spoken in the wind along the cliffs. From the organic treasure of the trees, he crushed peaches in the palm of his hand. The pit was sweet to taste,…