A tight-lipped Cheshire moon smiled orange over the Hudson, casting a pale shadow of light on the black of the evening. Drifts of dead leaves crackled underfoot as I stumbled through the autumned woods, growing more disoriented with every faltering step. Sinewy branches—long since severed from the tree by some cruel gust of wind—still dangled from snarls in the canopy, vainly stretching earthward like wretched souls longing for the grave.
Which seemed appropriate… this was Sleepy Hollow.
(picture to come)
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