Trip to Glasgow
When I came to the UK my plan was to go to Wales. I had read an old Welsh myth in my Arthurian Legend class and wanted to visit the bright green forests that King Arthur had fictitiously walked in. It was beneficial as well that I had so many friends living in Wales at the time. One was a park ranger on one of their national woodlands, one was a nurse fighting the Covid pandemic, and some were hippies that had set up a commune in God-knows-where. And as fun of an adventure it would have been to live amongst the faeries in the forests of Wales, the Lady of the Lake had different plans for me.
The Importance of Being Unimportant
I don’t make a big impact on the world. If my job had a spirit animal, it would be an ant. We’re often overlooked, moving one piece of dirt at a time. And all too frequently we end up underneath another creature’s boot. I’m a dishwasher.
The Treachery of Images
It was normally warm by this time of year but winter had been extended on this particular countryside; due to an early reaping. Where there had once been a forest, grown over an old farm, there was now nothing. The farmer’s plot had been laid bare, revealing the family headstones uphill from the pond where once they might have drawn water. If you did the math on the graves, you’d discover that the parents outlived their children. Their youngest only reached the age of seven before succumbing to whatever mysterious threat may have claimed his life in 1874.