THE VILLAGE, A SHORT STORY
The car breasted a long slope, and Mark pulled into a slightly wider section of the road. High in an achingly blue sky the dark soot flakes of honey buzzards and eagles soared, while closer at hand the razor sharp sickles of the swallows and martins reaped the sky for its harvest of insects, their twitterings like the voices children at play in some infinitely far distant place. The air was filled with the harsh stridulation of crickets in the nearby olive trees – a mechanical, sawing sound,... Sign in to see full entry.