Short Stories (0 - 0K Words)
"Drink Deep and Long the Circean Poison" - Deborah Judith Walker (4170 words)
There's something special about fenland, the holy land of the English. A flat, low-lying land where silver, drifting fog brings to mind the mysteries held in the human heart. Where else should the true artist reside? Not in cacophonous London, but here, in Boston, a stone's throw from the wild, wild sea.
Thus I was pondering, as I walked with my Circe along the wash, revelling in the triumph of another successful play performed by the Boston Players. True, the audience seemed forever dwindling, consisting mainly of avatars, but what else can you expect in these times when appreciation of the finer things is far beyond the ken of most? But those who did appreciate, ah those, the accolades of a half-dozen accomplished minds is worth far more that the accolades of a million dead-minded drones.
"I think that my next opus shall be of the fens, Circe."