Wednesday, January 25, 2012

across the skies

There were stories of snow drifts so deep entire villages were buried, and stories of nights so cold no one who went to sleep ever woke up again. Yet there were also stories of ice palaces, entire kingdoms carved and fashioned from the white granite cliffs of the mountains, with huge bonfires always lit in the center courtyard, and deep hot springs warmed by the volcanoes slumbering under the mountains. These stories told of a race of tall, thin people, whose skin was as pale as the snow itself, whose hair was the color of the bonfire, and these people were the soul of the mountains. They played trumpets and flutes, they sang from deep in their chests, long, tuneless chants that reflected the sun breaking through the clouds and protected them from the dangers of avalanches and volcanoes.

weather
a dram for the lads, a dram for the lassies, and a dram for the haggis : happy birthday, Rabbie Burns

reading
underground restoration efforts in Paris!