Poem, Sagas, Scenic, Short story

Soft smiles.

How sweet the sound of children’s laughter sounds in quiet times. When food sits salted and pots all boil, when weapons are clean and stored. When all around is still but for the song of birds and the young. Continue reading “Soft smiles.”

Poem, Sagas, Scenic, Short story, Weekend

So is the rain.

Not every dark cloud brings with it the misfortunes which so many are content to take. To those who know those darkest clouds bring with them a moment, one which may seized as no other. It all starts with a simple drop of rain. Continue reading “So is the rain.”

Lore, Sagas, Short story

Beating the drum [archived].

There’s something primordial about it, the banging of the drum. As thunder wrought down from Gods and spirits to shake both the heavens and the earth. All else between reverberates with it blunt majesty, as the drummers play and spur on all those about. It sits in the ear, each beat, as the next comes to take its place. And a deafening silence remains when the drummers stop playing their beat. Continue reading “Beating the drum [archived].”

Poem, Sagas, Scenic, Short story, Weekend

A traveling trader’s ritual. [Archive visit]

It is so hot on these city streets. The sun bears down from far above with all its strength, as if it wishes to scorch and burn this mass of rock and folk muddled through each other. The spaces so confining by walls, taverns, gates and warehouses. And the open square made closed with an ever slowly moving mass of people, each oblivious to the awkward movements of another. Continue reading “A traveling trader’s ritual. [Archive visit]”