[100 Challenge] Ocean_97

I’ll be off to the old country, green on green, denuded for a thousand years. Bring the echoing memory of trees to a place now bare and revealing the knobby knees of its stone bones for all the sky to chill and laugh upon. Fire, that excess, that burnt breath. Ashes, ashes, all slept upon. Wisteria clotting the gutters of the old homesteads. Cream in the cow. Custard. Could a man make a life of this? Couldn’t he? Such aloneness, the reward for success? All empty, all bees.