Emily Brontë Posted bykeechballardSeptember 9, 2021September 9, 2021Posted inUncategorized I lingered round them under that benign sky; watched the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells, listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth. Who’s that digging at my grave? So the story goes. Share this:FacebookLinkedInSkypePinterestTwitterLike this:Like Loading... Related Published by keechballard Keech Ballard is a writer of speculative fiction, nonfiction, and poetry, He lives somewhere in the desert southwest of the human mind. His work has appeared in Fantasy Magazine. View more posts