Harry Cory Wright

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Dark on the Marsh

Grey dawn. Out on the marsh it was cold… like a knife… as they say. We sat in the dark at first and heard snipe and teal above us before the faint glow of sunrise emerged from the east and grew to an ember-like sliver against the ashen clouds. The place, that at first had been just ourselves… the sounds and the slippery wet creek we found ourselves within, extended slowly outwards, beyond the trees and houses that stretch to the shore… out to the thin strip of weak flame on the horizon.


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