Dormouse559

The Earth has torn itself to pieces; All the mountains and hills, All the rivers and rills, Are coasting on the clouds; Gorgeous, crumbling palaces. So thickly they crowd in the sky, You can leap through the turbulent air, From one flying isle to the next, Beyond even the dizziest heights, Though the castles crumble … And creak, crack, crash Down under vice-grip gravity; And all the mountains and hills Lock themselves tight to the ground, Fortresses once more.

Rumbling from the car engine The body should vibrate subtly as it rolls along the rolling hills, but the car goes silent, smooth as a high-tech hovercraft when I look out the window at the warm-colored apple orchards as they whisk swiftly by, burnished gold in morning light. The honey-gold arboreal rows surround two towers of gray stone, silent and smooth as the day they too were high-tech beacons in the field, but now the rising rays make soft these sucked-in cylinders and their concave curves, turn them to gilded, concrete apple trees

The storm clouds were gathered, flat and immense as the most impenetrable ocean on a windless night, and pressed down from horizon to horizon, strangling the sky into nothingness. The shadows hovered on the verge of solidity, hanging heavily down to, and piling up on, the vast plains in great folds and ripples of shade. And that was how Gwen liked it. She couldn’t remember when the clouds came, though they must have arrived after she was born. She knew with an instinctive certainty that something lay hidden above them, something terrible. And a memory she couldn’t quite recall told her that, while the clouds remained, she could