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 13, 2012

Dark Roads

Been a difficult year.  I've been neglecting The Gable Grey of late.  Can't be helped.  I don't know when I'll be back to posting on a more regular basis.  There has been and is still much to do.  My strength has been and is being tested like never before.  At some point I may find that strength wanting.  At that point I would take the Ship, and leave this place in more capable hands, or simply to the trees.  My heart is sick and weary of the burdens upon it.

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"