Sacred Objects, Imagination I.
I hear the kids and the coaches shout and encourage each other down at the ball field through my open window. The sky is decidedly grey and melancholy. Dreary. One could be a poetic soul and interpret their voices as defying the crummy weather, or one could be more pragmatic and think, well, they're kids sporting on a field, of course they and their parents and coaches are shouting and cheering. Just know that there is no right answer, nor is there a wrong answer.
"Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the key-hole."
Sacred Objects, Imagination II.
"'Oh for shame, how the mortals put the blame on us gods, for they say evils come from us, but it is they, rather, who by their own recklessness win sorrow beyond what is given…'"
Favorite place. @old_foxbooks . . .
