“I whisper-think my prayers to the sun, to the pork chop lines on Cas’ legs, to the soft hairs on Earl’s arms. To the baby goat, sproinging again so high it’s practically flying.”
@sarahillswrites.bsky.social in @fracturedlit.bsky.social https://fracturedlit.com/baby-goat-on-the-roof/
@sarahillswrites.bsky.social in @fracturedlit.bsky.social https://fracturedlit.com/baby-goat-on-the-roof/
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