Ned Hayes's Blog, page 152
September 19, 2013
“Stars flicker above, points of bright ice in a dark...

“Stars flicker above, points of bright ice in a dark river. I pull a heavy sheepskin around my legs and stretch my feet toward the fire. Despite the cold, Liam plays his flute, the sound whistling through the night. Soon my eyes are heavy, my head nodding.
I open my eyes at the deep melodious baritone of Salvius’s voice telling a tale. Liam’s flute is silent now. I have heard Salvius tell many tales on market days; he is known for his memory of wandering minstrels and mummers who visit us at Whitsunday and through Midsummer. Salvius is a mockingbird: he can give a fair charade of the rhythmic tones of any wandering bard or any noble of the Royal Court.
In this darkness, his eyes catch the light like a cat in the night.”
— from the novel SINFUL FOLK
SOURCE: senerii: The Perfect Storm by Kenny Muir on Flickr.
“The men on horses are casting about for the source of the...

“The men on horses are casting about for the source of the smoke they saw earlier, but the thin fumes are hard to see in the brighter light. In the fresh sunlight, mist is rising in thick waves from every outcrop and stone and tree. The earth itself seems to be melting into smoke.”
— from the novel SINFUL FOLK
SOURCE OF PHOTO: nishe: My meadow.
September 18, 2013
"As the day flattened into dusk, I made my way back, a load of...

"As the day flattened into dusk, I made my way back, a load of heavy wood upon my back, Christian sleeping in my arms. A little wind rushed through the elms, a chiffchaff called, the scent of lavender was on the air. That rainy early spring. As I came out of the woods, I saw a little light in a wattled house built in a dark hollow."
— from the novel Sinful Folk
PHOTO: illuminated forest by aspheric.lens on Flickr
September 17, 2013
"Cold tears as salty as ocean spray wet my face…. The day...

"Cold tears as salty as ocean spray wet my face…. The day before she died, my mother did something I still don’t understand. She took me out in our little fishing boat, out on the open water of the sea—the thrum and hiss of surf upon the shore behind us, the rhythm never ceasing.
My mother waited until we were out of sight of land. She squinted against the bright sunlight, making sure we were alone. And then she taught me something: strange words in a foreign tongue, a lilting singsong cadence to it.”
— from the novel Sinful Folk
aseaofquotes:
Ari Berk, Death Watch
September 16, 2013
"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
Before there was Google, there was the Card...

Before there was Google, there was the Card Catalog…. !
September 15, 2013
"As the day flattened into dusk, I made my way back, a load of...

"As the day flattened into dusk, I made my way back, a load of heavy wood upon my back, Christian sleeping in my arms. A little wind rushed through the elms, a chiffchaff called, the scent of lavender was on the air. That rainy early spring. As I came out of the woods, I saw a little light in a wattled house built in a dark hollow. Not yet in the village – not on the commons – this croft was some way out. A dog barked, short and sharp, and a woman appeared."
— from the novel Sinful Folk
September 14, 2013
"A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one."
- (via lonelyymountain)
from the novel Sinful Folk
”The thrum and hiss of...

from the novel Sinful Folk
”The thrum and hiss of surf upon the shore behind us, the breaking rhythm never ceasing.The sound of a distant ocean covers me with surf, that tide that bears me back eternally into the past, back to the place where I was born.
People come through the whiteness, through the bright light, but all of them are ghosts. I remembered that my mother waited until we were out of sight of land. She squinted against the bright sunlight, making sure of our isolation.”
— from the novel Sinful Folk