A ripe peach in one hand, the morning sun in the other. Wrong foot forward, I step into the breeze and see where it leads me.

— 140Story (@miniaturestory) July 24, 2015

At midday, I choose to rest. The peach's heart weighing down on my palm, I clean the last residue of its fragrant flesh with my teeth.

— 140Story (@miniaturestory) September 1, 2015

Though a tree may not grow, I bury the stone I took from the peach in soil, and bathe it in sunset. I wait for the wind to pick up again.

— 140Story (@miniaturestory) October 20, 2015

Story is complete, and summer has definitely gone.