I just finished reading Reaper Man by Terry Pratchett, and it was delicious. Here are some random screen shots: Two of the oldest mayflies zigzagged aimlessly over the waters of a trout stream, discussing history with some of the younger members of the evening hatching. You dont get the kind of sun now that you used to get. Youre right, there! It were higher then too. And nymphs and larvae showed you a bit of respect. They did. They did, said the other mayfly vehemently. I reckon, if mayflies these hours behaved a bit better, wed still be having proper sun. Consider Death, terrified of, and morally offended by a combine harvester. Consider Death, demoted to a living man, and dreading the end of his own life. He determines to fight back against the next Death, the new Grim Reaper, who will be coming for him shortly. He takes a scythe from the tool rack in a barn and sharpens it at the forge, then on a grinding wheel... then on a steel then on an oilstone, and then, and then and then then on hessian cloth, then calico, then linen, then satin then on the purist silk of a wedding veil, never worn and then on cobweb and then on the air moving across the plains before dawn and then on the streaming light of dawn itself Consider the light striking that blade, splitting, dying. Consider Death falling in love with the ancient woman whose wedding veil he sharpened his blade upon. Consider Death pleading the case for mercy and compassion to the Universe itself, and the Universe responding: YES. Consider Death and his lover together at the harvest dance.
Posted on: Thu, 27 Feb 2014 13:39:44 +0000
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