þriðjudagur, ágúst 14, 2007


Tink, clenk. Mugs do not ring like glass does. The ceramic is, at, base, stone, and stone makes a poor bell. But then the chime of bronze post-dates other, older signs of the tiny realm of men ringed about by the great Wild. Is this like the sound of drinking in an ancient hall? (--less the clamorous voices; we are hard at work in our books even as we hear the coffee on its way.) Re-read Beowulf and watch for it: the cold heath stretching to the horizon, the flicker of warmth beneath the roofbeam.

1 ummæli:

tristan sagði...

bone china meets iron halfway

Hvaðan þið eruð