and a gentleman fades into view, seated at one of the tables. He is dressed in flowing robes of silvers, pale blues, and greys. Upon the table in front of him stands a large raven with feathers the color of polished jet. The man's thinning, greying, curly hair, and his copper-colored beard somehow suggest the muted dancing of flames in the hearth after a warming evening's fire has settled into coals. Behind the bi-focals perched at the end of his nose pince-nez style, his steel-blue eyes are clear and bright, with a sparkle of brilliance shining from within their depths -- or perhpas it's just mischief.
'Mornin', all. Green tea, I think, with mint and a generous dollop of wild honey, brewed from dewdrops which settled upon heather and clover, and accompanied by a slice of pound cake. |
