Power lines, phone lines, black and quilted, draping cobwebs of unseen endless uses.
Under the shadeless net he walked, breathed on his hands. Like distant mountains the towering net moved little above him as he went, except to rock in their dizzy height over his eyes.
In a hollow corner between the ends of two walls he found the hole dug, and the trowel by it. He rubbed his hands, shook his head, and filled up the hole again. A tear escaped the soil as he pressed it down.
His boots made crunches as he went again, crushing the litter of coins unrecognisable in their tarnish and rust; but they made a nice gritty sound when walked upon with heavy feet.
High above the wayside where he walked, a tiny charred claw came, without a creature attached, and perched by its tiny self, and alone clutched a wire.
#DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM 2023/12/11