Birthed from the sky in lofty tabernacle sea
Drunk with wine till topsy-turvy
From that plane plummeted he (more…)
The morning of my birth had been a glorious day. Only just the day before, I had been nothing more than a tiny seed, but now – now I had burst through my prison of clay and emerged into the growing, laughing world. I had mingled my song with the ringing chorus around me. (more…)
Content Advisory: This story contains elements of darkness which may be disturbing to some people. The subject matter that some people may find disturbing is a sudden death brought about with highly malicious intentions. I highly apologize if you are turned off by this story, and let me assure you that I had no intention of delivering a dark message, but I only wanted to show real people going through tough situations. If, however, you feel up to the reading, I sincerely hope and trust you will appreciate the tale.
In the garden of Doctor Cook leaned Ernest the gardener. He was propped against the trunk of an ancient chestnut in deep contemplation. His wizened features were directed to a patch of potatoes directly outside of the chestnut’s canopy. Occupying one half of his mind was the active debate between two prophets, each with an opinion about those potatoes. One told of prospects hopeful, the other, of prospects less to be desired. Ernest would have liked to have given his full attention to the cares of his garden, but the other half his mind was stollen by distant cries from within the house of his employer, Doctor Cook. Perhaps if they had known what calamity their distracting voices might have had on the potato harvest, they would have calmed their tongues. They did not know however, and their shouting continued. The cries were of bitter argument.
When autumn winds excite the leaves
And reapers gather in their sheaves
Earth’s abundance all in store
Enough for us and many more
Raise the song of merriment! (more…)