Ned Hayes's Blog, page 134

"Buying a book is not about obtaining a possession, but about securing a portal."

““Buying a book is not about obtaining a possession, but about securing a portal.””

- Laura Miller; The Magician’s Book: A Skeptic’s Adventures in Narnia (via wordpainting)

"It is as if time has not passed here at all, over the...

"It is as if time has not passed here at all, over the intervening years. The old stones under my feet, the open breadth of the sanctuary, the over-rich scent of incense, the great lines of white candles flickering in a winter draught, they are the same. My footfalls resound on the flagstones of this great cruciform hall. I hide myself in an alcove before the statue of Mary Magdalene."
— from the novel SINFUL FOLK

PHOTO: Lighting blessing candles in …Milan Cathedral, Duomo di Milano, Milan Italy

"Sound carries far here in the trees. Snow slides off a heavy...

"Sound carries far here in the trees. Snow slides off a heavy oak as some creature shuffles through the woods, and ancient branches snap. Out of the corner of one eye, I see the flash of colored feathers. It is a yellowhammer, black eyes flickering in a hedgerow, tiny breast plumped out in golden livery, streaked with colors rich and brown. It was calling in its winter song:

 A little bit of bread and no cheese—

A little bit of bread and no cheese—

Moments later, the bracken flutters and the slight shadow of the bird darts into the woods. Deep in the forest now, I hear a low voice that wends back and forth, whispering in secret.”

— from the novel Sinful Folk 

PHOTO: via forest by low.filer on Flickr.

"The fire blazes, sparks rioting above the earth, rising into...

"The fire blazes, sparks rioting above the earth, rising into the night. In the reflected blaze, the masks of the players packed in a cart glimmer behind us, false faces shifting in the light."
— from the novel Sinful Folk

(Campanile Books, NYC, 2014)

booksmut:This tree-bookself would make a nice centerpiece for...

booksmut:

This tree-bookself would make a nice centerpiece for a big room!

"I ran. A path seemed to open before me into the woods, some...

"I ran. A path seemed to open before me into the woods, some small track to a little town, a forgotten village.

I sensed the watcher—keeping pace with me in the thickening forest, maneuvering silently through the clasping vines, the slapping branches and heavy windfall logs—close to me at times.

Then my poor left foot betrayed me, catching on an errant vine and sliding helplessly on slick rock. I tumbled into a bramblebush, pushing Christian out of harm’s way before I plunged headfirst into the misbegotten backwater of a summer-shrunk creek.

I pulled myself out of the deep and stinking sludge, clawed my way up the granite, and reached for my crying son, his blanket caught precariously in brambles. But my foot lodged in a fold of robe, and then I fell without stopping, slamming backward against the great unforgiving rock.

The distant thrumming of the hooves still shuddered through me as the stone caught my head on the way down.”

— from the novel SINFUL FOLK

"Ahead are the cathedral altars, glimmering gold, seeming to...

"Ahead are the cathedral altars, glimmering gold, seeming to float upwards in shafts of light that fall from the open windows, and beyond them the paradise of the colonnade, that space between the altar of Christ and the earthly wall."
— from the novel SINFUL FOLK

"It is as if time has not passed here at all, over the...

"It is as if time has not passed here at all, over the intervening years. The old stones under my feet, the open breadth of the sanctuary, the over-rich scent of incense, the great lines of white candles flickering in a winter draught, they are the same. My footfalls resound on the flagstones of this great cruciform hall."
— from the novel Sinful Folk

"Sound carries far here in the trees. Snow slides off a heavy...

"Sound carries far here in the trees. Snow slides off a heavy oak as some creature shuffles through the woods, and ancient branches snap. Out of the corner of one eye, I see the flash of colored feathers. It is a yellowhammer, black eyes flickering in a hedgerow, tiny breast plumped out in golden livery, streaked with colors rich and brown. It was calling in its winter song:

 A little bit of bread and no cheese—

A little bit of bread and no cheese—

Moments later, the bracken flutters and the slight shadow of the bird darts into the woods. Deep in the forest now, I hear a low voice that wends back and forth, whispering in secret.”

— from the novel Sinful Folk 

"Once, I was hidden in an alder copse when I sensed her again,...

"Once, I was hidden in an alder copse when I sensed her again, that watcher in the woods. A woman, I could tell, by the muted whisper of her footsteps, sliding softly on rotten leaves and old mulch. There was a scent in the air when she was close, lavender and mint. I lifted Christian from his sleeping place and crept deeper into the woods, until I found a darker, hidden place. An old cedar, pungent branches circled like a fallen nest."
— from the novel Sinful Folk