Saturday, December 15, 2007

A Stranger Coming home

I stand at the gate - huge, rough, much weathered. The wind blows from somewhere up the tor, bringing the faint scent of foppish animals sacrificed for a small repast. My eyes water. I tell myself it's the wind - simply the wind.

Everything looks the same, but different. The sod faded walls, the steep angle of vaulted roofs, even the cobblestones bring back instant memories of - what? Childhood? What was that? No, the overlapping pictures hold neither pain nor pleasure. Rather, the puzzle simply is that they are so much smaller than memory served. Curious.

From somewhere comes the muted trill of a werebeast. I smile. I've been doing a fair amount of that, of late. Foolishness. Allows one to be caught unaware. And rightly so!

And so, we progress slowly forward, you and I - one step most carefully placed in front of another.

What adventures await in this new yet old land into which we have stumbled?

Time will tell.

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