Salvatore Arnoldo

Dream of a Witch House

Texas. Late summer. Dusk is closing in. fireflies float and dance in little circles above the grass at the edge of the woods. There’s a willow tree, just on the edge, before the trees get thick; it’s wispy yellow leaves hand and sway almost imperceptibly in the breeze, its branches are thick and old, twisting out into the sky from a rippling trunk…

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