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Monthly Archives: October 2013
Many times the answer to the mystery of the universe has been revealed to me. Alas, I didn’t have a pen and paper handy, couldn’t write it down, forgot it. Had I been suitably equipped, I’d be in proud possession of a Nobel Prize. Continue reading
Kiss an Angel Good Morning
“Darlin’! I’m just a hunka burning love for you this mornin’.”
“… sure about hunk?”
“… always joshing.”
“… new keyboard’s arrived. Oops! … ring back?”
“Thing’s just switched itself on.”
“It can do that?”
“It’s playing a tune.”
Pre-programmed freebies, she supposed – at first. She picked up the phone; after – trembling – her car keys. Continue reading
To know more about my recently resurrected novel-in-progress Flint & Feather, I’ve just made a new page and posted a slideshow of related images. You’ll see I made the slideshow in 2011. I’ve been trying to complete this work for a … Continue reading
I posted the back of this card in a blog a couple of weeks ago. I didn’t want to post the front until after the birthday. Well, here are both sides. The receiver of the card came to dinner a … Continue reading
Flint & Feather: Scene X
She tucked away her car under the dense canopy of the towering pine. It stood on the opposite side of the narrow lane that gave access to Padraic’s garden. Better again, it was also 50 metres or so from the garden gate. It normally provided discreet cover – but not tonight. What had Ginny called it? Worm Moon. The wormy moon is full waxing, Ginny had said. The poesy of her speech was so far out of character as to sound ridiculous. She’d had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. She could see some logic, for once, though. It was March. Worms would be working the soil, to stir it from its wintry sleep, awaken dormant seeds. Continue reading
The Cloths of Heaven is a song composed by Ivor Gurney, (1890-1937) set to a poem (Aedh wishes for the Cloths of Heaven) by Irish poet W B Yeats ( 1865-1939). In the video above Anthony Hopkins reads the poem.
Below is the song interpreted by Ian Bostridge.
Gurney led a tragic life. He passed his final 15 years in mental institutions, dying at 47 of Tuberculosis, in an asylum in Dartford, having been moved there after an escape attempt, far from his native and beloved Gloucestershire. His decline seems to have been triggered by his experiences during World War I. Continue reading
“How crimson the bud-tips on that young apple.”
“There’s all sorts of new growth in the woods, Eve.”
“Don’t we have a lovely glen, Adam? Look at that pool, it’s molten gold.”
“Better get back, …house needs a ton o’ work. And no tools, ‘less I find some abandoned ones.”
“Let’s gather wood; I need a fire for the soup.”
“Straight after Evensong.” Continue reading
The Laurel Grove Mysteries (Book One)
Flint & Feather
“Sweet to tongue and sound to eye …”.
She was motionless outside Trocadéro metro station, looking up the steps towards the entrance to the musée de l’Homme. How had she landed up here? She should have been on the Left Bank, heading towards the gallery. She was weary to her bones.
… bone, wood, horn, feather, thread of gut …
Again, the peculiar sensation of being outside herself, her sosie – Laurel Two looking into Laurel One. This time Laurel Two was seeing, reflected back from the blackness of her twin’s pupil, a halo. On the halo’s inner rim was a web from which tiny random drops of light were suspended. Continue reading