"..that Country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger and midnights stay. That country composed of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on empty walks sound like rain..." RB
Monday, March 16, 2009
Vet Beards
I don't dwell on them, but when they're pushed in your face, well what can one do? Monday is off to a gang buster start. I'm reading a Michael Stackpole Fantasy novel. Pretty enjoyable so far.
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