Jittery

Jittery, but not from cold, although it IS cold. Damn cold. My breath streams before me, my soul leaking out around the edges. Someone told me that once, some tribe somewhere believes that's what winter breath is. It's not a comforting thought this morning. Not today.

The sun is pale, bleeding out into the sky. It will struggle feebly for a few hours and then die. Night. That's not a comforting thought either. I hope to be home by then, warm, safe. That's not what I expect, though. I expect to be dead.

Ugh

I had forgotten how annoying the old blog style was. Here's a new one. Oh, and um, the hiatus is over (see below if you don't believe me).

A Simple Inn

This is the memory I carry, the memory that keeps me alive through these dark nights and terrible days.

An inn, stout and old with an innkeeper of the same description. The inn sits on a road and around it sits a town. The town is neither important nor large but the road leads to places that are both.

The inn gets by on the patronage of the townsfolk and prospers on the patronage of travellers. The town, too, prospers from the needs of the travellers and so the townsfolk are warm to them.

Outside the inn is dark and brown. Inside it is warm and brown. The ale is good and the innkeeper is friendly. He knows all the townsfolk and most of the travellers, and they know him.

It is an inn, a simple inn. An inn like many others, but it was home on the road to me for six years when my home off the road was cold and empty. A simple inn, it keeps me alive.