Wild Fell (A Ghost Story)

by Michael Rowe

the moon was afraid of what it might call to life from the depths of the glass by shining on it.

moon rep

From somewhere in the back of the car, two large white moths rose jerkily into the air, then fluttered out the open door. They hovered for a moment directly in my sightlines, white on white, hard to see in the grey afternoon light, vanishing above my head, carried on the freshening breeze.

There was a sense of entering an abrupt, dark-green dusk created from natural gloom and road dust.