Wassail, traveler, and welcome to The Gable Grey -- a place of retreat, of renewal, and of resistance: a tree-shaded refuge in Dark Times. Now pass the threshold, and rest from journeys! For a cold wind is blowing; and here, if you wish, you may hear tidings of the world without...

Friday, July 17, 2009

Fits and starts

Thanks to My Good Friend (MGF) Richard, who has been openly threatening to work on his Fantasy Fiction Project (FFP) again, I've been stimulated to return to the world of the Woodreeve, and have gotten some work done on it this week. Naturally that means that pretty much everything else, aside from work and domestic duties, falls by the wayside. But it feels good to create again, whatever the resulting literary merits (or lack thereof).
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Whiles carried o'er the iron road,
We hurry by some fair abode;
The garden bright amidst the hay,
The yellow wain upon the way,
The dining men, the wind that sweeps
Light locks from off the sun-sweet heaps --
The gable grey, the hoary roof,
Here now -- and now so far aloof.
How sorely then we long to stay
And midst its sweetness wear the day,
And 'neath its changing shadows sit,
And feel ourselves a part of it.
Such rest, such stay, I strove to win
With these same leaves that lie herein.

-- William Morris, from
"The Roots of the Mountains"