He was standing in an old road, rutted and ancient, that wound up a black hill towards the sky, where a great flock of black birds was gathering. The birds were like black letters against the grey of the sky. He thought that in a moment he would understand what the writing meant. The stones in the ancient road were symbols foretelling the travelers journey.
23 March 2009
Ireland
“For the great Gaels of Ireland /Are the men that God made mad, / For all their wars are merry / And all their songs are sad.” --G. K. Chesterton
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