Ballad of the Sun Rising

“The crisp morning air blew through the trees rippling only the dried foliage which remained, and the snow began to fall as they listened to the footsteps of a stallion in the distance as it strained to pull the carriage of thoughts down the path destroyed by years, and as they stood upon the hill sensing the cool dew seep between the toes of their bare feet, they felt fear, they felt loathing, and they saw the sun rising.”

~ S. Grant Funerway

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

Host father pooring some wine. A small glass is always left atop the barrel. They encourage me to use it often.

Ballad of the Sun Rising

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

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