Ants Hole Publishing

It is a blustery day; the breeze has bloated the clothes
on the line and painted the embers red in the chill.
Inlanders ruefully remember the stately hills, but then
hurled aloft and sent adrift into the frosty air, are the
fliers.

Climbing higher, they cut into the wind's swoops and
swells, making loops and circles, where kaa and keeow...