Monday, April 6, 2009


I have stood among trees to whom I am but a taste on the air; I have fallen into the sky, timelessly lost among the languorous stars, lightly lowered to earth with the midnight dew. I have walked the lake of moonlit mist with life, flaming, lilting at my side and sullen death skulking behind her mossy eyes. We are naught but a story spoken: let us listen.

Wodehousian Fun