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Shannon Rainey

I walk along the cobbled paths, looking at the cottages with thatched roofs and timber frames. Ahead looms a spire, marking the final resting place of many who once walked here. The ground is soaked in antiquity, steeped in stories, and brewed in blood. I feel as though that just by standing here, on this ancient land, the past is flowing up my legs and into my soul. Though it’s foreign to me, I feel at home here. I know the basics of the history, of course, but I want more. I long to trace the footsteps of every person who walked this path before me, to know their stories, their loves, their losses, their hopes, their dreams, their beginnings and their ends.

Fall, 2019 Issue

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