Sunday Whirl – Milling Dreams

Blindly wandering through the drizzle, my bad dream puts me in the middle of two hills. The gloom lifts to reveal a mill. I pause before I knock on the door. The door swings open. There stands a trim man dressed as a king.

My mouth opens but words fail to emerge.

Suddenly an alarm changes everything.

4 thoughts on “Sunday Whirl – Milling Dreams

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