Postcards From The Edge

We hadn’t had any luck buying bread in the last few towns we had passed through. Figuring out business hours in France was beyond me. This village was our last chance before nightfall, but it appeared deserted. The silence made it eerie yet strangely enchanting. My footsteps echoed off the stone walls of ancient, shuttered houses which seemed to grow right out of the landscape. The mist slowly spread through the narrow streets, like the ghosts of the villagers going about their daily routine. I was looking for the cemetery, I wanted to know who they were.