Listen to the sounds of silence as the walls come tumbling down.
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.”
Whatever happens to the stars beyond the clouds? Do they stand and wait for the world to see again? Or do they take their chance to weave and play or consider to take their leave? Continue reading “A lot.”
With eyes set firmly on what was before them and never further beyond, they would forsake all that followed. Continue reading “Without looking up.”