There are some parts of this earth that have never felt the weight of a man’s foot.
Some blades of grass, straggling roots, vicious briar patches or barren wastes that remain unsullied by the tramp of careless boots, or the mindless crush of four-wheeled monsters.
I will find such a place.
As eagles wheel in the skies above, and others flock to join them, I will become the first adventurer upon such hallowed ground, gifting it with a reverence demanded by its virgin status.
But it must be soon.
The corpse in the trunk is ripening quicker than I’d imagined.
Bon voyage to the Friday Fictioneers leader, Rochelle, as she sets off for Israel. Enjoy, my friend.