Raven sat on the branch of a strangler fig, staring sideways at the sun. The sun stared back. For a long while, neither moved. The world yawned. Then, gradually, the sun slunk down behind the hills.
“That’s what I thought,” said Raven, and took off, triumphant, into the gathering dusk.
Sam Hall is a writer from England. He lives in a cabin he built in an apple orchard, keeping bees and chasing after chickens.
