Fog

January 31, 2015

That morning ladled no good fog onto the highway. Naked hills squeezed away into the blank color of silence hiding their bellies and faces against the bedrock. Ghosts in the fog metamorphosed on the hills’ back into stalking trees tearing off their shreds of fog-cloth, giants with tall hair. From behind, strange dryads reached out gray, fleshly hands to the cars, staring with huge, evil eyes.

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Michael Helvey

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