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...

Sunday, December 19, 2010

Inexorable... Fate

"Fate is the excuse the weak use for not rolling up their sleeves and shaping their destiny.  What, did you sleep through Philosophy 101?  Fate is the hand you're dealt, bunky.  Destiny is how you play it.  Both are scary, but the former is what you surrender to if you're too bluck-bluck to exercise the latter."  -- Countdown to Mystery #8

Wassail. -- C.

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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"