Dry fingers of decaying branches protruded upward, above what was left of the canopy of green. They rattled like skeletal bones, grasping for a final breath from the last silvery clouds of evening that slowly drifted by.

Dry fingers of decaying branches protruded upward, above what was left of the canopy of green. They rattled like skeletal bones, grasping for a final breath from the last silvery clouds of evening that slowly drifted by.

– K. Farrell St. Germain –

Then’diel’s Song

© License assigned to YouCanQuoteME. License CC BY-NC 4.0

📲 Copy this QR code to share the phrase wherever you want