Listen to the sounds of silence as the walls come tumbling down.
So we leave and so we go, Continue reading “It will.”
Further away than our village limits, even beyond the lonely farms, the river Quith rolls off the mountains and down the steepest hills. Upon the hill which holds the Quith is a mill from ages past. A giant water wheel was there with spinning stones both thick and vast. And as the waters came to pass, they went back to the same, they turned with speed that giant wheel and joined the Quith again. Continue reading “The old mill [archive].”
As dawn will shine its brightest fire upon those in its way, we raise our tools for food and folk upon another day. Continue reading “After the toil.”
The world is never still or simple for those who dare to be a messenger. It is far more than going from here to there with spoken word or sealed letter. It is a world that more people would only glance as we shoot by as quick as an arrow on the backs of horses. Horses bred for a sprint which lasts only until the next stable gives another horse to drum its hooves into the ground and beat its rhythm for urgent words. Continue reading “The life of a messenger [archive].”