Have you ever heard something you couldn’t quite pinpoint the location of? An ill-fitted breeze? A fleeting rustle of the underbrush?
The hills, they whisper.
NASA

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@haunted-acres
Have you ever heard something you couldn’t quite pinpoint the location of? An ill-fitted breeze? A fleeting rustle of the underbrush?
The hills, they whisper.
No matter where one treads, the echoes of memories will only fester.
Nature rests only when man ceases to stir it.
Chapter 1 Pt. 1
A cold front.
Can you see it?
The fields grow quiet.
For what is a story, without its heroines?