.Mythmaker

gallery

My Great, Great, Grandfather lived long enough, here in the Dry Land, to teach his wide eyed great, great Grandson that sorrow was a thing with a will of it's own. He said birds that blotted out the sun with their dark feathers also scattered grief as they flew like tear stained shadows across a glowering sky. He was a poet and he was right. If he was real, this one would be for him.

Mikel.