That year the sky fell twice, on Saint Valentine’s Day and the day before Thanks Giving. Vicar’s Day it threatened to fall, the cleric’s assistant beside himself with worry, but didn’t, the sky staying calmly put. Barroco de Henry Purcell, know to his friends as de Henry, fell to his death the day after Cleric’s Day, his remains buried in a ditch outside the five-mile fence. (sister to Simon, Kaspar and Klaus) Hedwig’s fingers clamming freshly turned dirt. Novo Mesto Bohinj beget of Yonago Tottori read from the Book of Beginnings,
“O Knight of the Rueful Countenance, let not this captivity in which thou art placed afflict thee, for this must needs be, for the more speedy accomplishment of the adventure in which thy great heart has engaged thee…”[1] This sort of happenstance happened more oft than not. With so many feasts, some clerical, others of a secular nature, it got so that a person couldn’t differentiate between right and almost or pretty right. The man in the hat beget an idea: get on with living. She has the empting, so they say…
‘stop that’ said the Knight ruefully. ‘stop what?’ inquired the man who had been asked to stop. ‘that’ said the rueful Knight pointing at the man’s hands. ‘oh this’ replied the man who had been asked to stop. ‘yes that’ said the ruing Knight. Removing his overcoat the man who was doing something with his hands that perhaps he should not asked ‘what time does the Feast of the Troubled Soul begin?’ To which the Knight replied ‘quarter past naught, give or take’.
That morning awaking from troubled dreams the man in the hat felt untoward toward the world. Seeing as things had changed overnight as he slept, even the colour of his bedspread, he decided to avoid anything new or almost new and get on with the day. Reaching for his glasses, which he wore mornings and before bed, he smelled his fingertips.
[1] Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote
“O Knight of the Rueful Countenance, let not this captivity in which thou art placed afflict thee, for this must needs be, for the more speedy accomplishment of the adventure in which thy great heart has engaged thee…”[1] This sort of happenstance happened more oft than not. With so many feasts, some clerical, others of a secular nature, it got so that a person couldn’t differentiate between right and almost or pretty right. The man in the hat beget an idea: get on with living. She has the empting, so they say…
‘stop that’ said the Knight ruefully. ‘stop what?’ inquired the man who had been asked to stop. ‘that’ said the rueful Knight pointing at the man’s hands. ‘oh this’ replied the man who had been asked to stop. ‘yes that’ said the ruing Knight. Removing his overcoat the man who was doing something with his hands that perhaps he should not asked ‘what time does the Feast of the Troubled Soul begin?’ To which the Knight replied ‘quarter past naught, give or take’.
That morning awaking from troubled dreams the man in the hat felt untoward toward the world. Seeing as things had changed overnight as he slept, even the colour of his bedspread, he decided to avoid anything new or almost new and get on with the day. Reaching for his glasses, which he wore mornings and before bed, he smelled his fingertips.
[1] Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote
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