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.
08 November 2010
A revolution in the mind
An invasion of armies can be resisted, but not an idea whose time has come. --Victor Hugo
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