Sunday, May 8, 2016

100 Words a Day 845

The canyon wound through the dirty red landscape, as a snake leaving a trail through the desert sand. It was deep like an old man’s wrinkles and had been cut wide by a trickling stream that had rushed and run in its youth. Like a snake, the canyon walls had shed their skin as they grew, exposing the red veins of rock that ran underneath. The river used to carry the stony scales away, whether in large chunks or bits of dust, but had found lately that the boulders that occasionally fell from above were too much for its current.

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