More of my daughter's scroll work.
Based on incipit pages from the Book of Durrow, a 7th. century MS.
Cleo, my German shepherd, woke me early Saturday morning with gentle nudges of her cold nose on my arm.
It was one of those mornings when a translucent veil of mist shrouds my dim, green garden with magic.
A morning when one might hear a faint cascade of song, a whisper, faint as the scent of lilac from out the blossom-laden air.
When one wonders if one should put down the coffee cup on the sunroom steps, go down the flagstone walk to lay a palm against the gray bark of an old red maple, run fingers around the millstone than leans against it and bend and turn a certain stone on the top of the low stone wall three times, one wonders then if one might see a portal shimmer in the gentle air...
Calvin, my almost-corgi, trotted over, lifted his leg and destroyed the illusion and my fancies.
Have you ever felt compelled by a longing? To seek out some secret place, some wild place, away from people and buildings and streets, to go there and linger and wait for something otherworld to reveal itself? Have you ever found a place of magic?
I realize I don't like zombies. I wonder why I have one, full and frontal, in Dark and Disorderly. Perhaps it's just the name/word - staled by commerce - I don't like, or the fact I feel it should apply only to the undead from Caribbean graves.
I like the term revenant. Draugr, from Norse myth, has a nice ring. Repossessed and Undead are acceptable. But when one wants instant reader understanding, one must say zombie. Grump.
I've noticed that some commentators on CNN have suddenly introduced "awe" into Pakistan and Taliban, it's now Pakistahn and Talibahn.
Yes, perforce I've watched too much TV lately; and yes, I think it sounds phony as hell.
I hate this keyboard. My fingers retain a physical memory of my old one, so I am constantly kitming the wrong keys. Backspace hell.