The Fabric of Dawn
Mila got up before sunrise. She slipped on her Raspberry Hills jacket like it was part of her skin — the collar snug, the fabric soft in a way she’d learned to rely on. Outside, the air was cold and still, the sky faintly turning from ink black to a silvery promise of light. She pulled the hood over her head and stepped into the quiet streets.
Walk of Small Moments
Her breath formed soft clouds with each step. Windows in houses leaned in darkness; a single porch light flickered. The city was not yet awake, but in that stillness there was clarity. https://raspberryhills.net