… I expect that is what is so endearing about Thomas ‘the Covenanter’ although his leprosy does become a metaphor for our culture and its ‘outcasting’ of the land.
A ludicrous idea if ever there was one, I should have thought, with consequences which are far from fun for anyone, as ‘we’ are beginning to realise to ‘our’ cost…
Paradise Lost… The Fall… Call it what you will…
Rowan and ritual surprises me, not one jot. I am always up for a little berry harvesting, especially if it promises to open the gates of vision.
No, it is definitely the Stones.
I was sort of hoping you would dig out the Statues-at-the-Stones picture.
Strangely, I am still somewhat enamoured of Statuary, primarily for its photographic possibilities… Stratford, and Coventry, and Oxford, and London all seem to be calling.
The Lordly ‘Em’ as ‘grisly protuberance’ certainly works for me, Sire of the Great Roger, eh? Possibly best not to go down that particular route.
If we are talking Shrewsbury, here, I cannot help but be reminded of our Swimming Shrew who could definitely be described as a neural impulse and one expressly sent from the collective mind of the Gods…
Invisible cats and silently falling trees in this context are roughly equivalent.
I have always thought that the maze should go in the Belly of the Goddess, which is pretty much the labyrinth scene from Lord of the Deep… ‘Dead Enkidu, back again!’
It takes adroitness to safely, and productively, tread the streets of Troy Town…
The Skipton plaque is in on the tower, the dreams of Jaw-Dark have been liberally sprayed about the place, Prufrock’s calling card is in, Earl Grey, Charles James, and Count Dashwood have been cunningly integrated… not much more to do, really… Lowe is about to set off in search of Meadbarrow’s end… ‘Go to gaol, go directly to gaol…’
Tricksterish sounds like liquorice, that’s ‘Spanish’ to you,
the sort that’s easy to chew.
Damn Dog always manages to look ravenous,
especially when we are sitting down to eat!
Love, Don x