HUMBLE, RUM, & RAGWORT For Medicinal Salve and Magickal Remedy Our Word is Our Promise Our Promise, A Spell “Come now Ragwort, we might do better than that.” “You think?” “I do.” “Very well then Mr. Humble,” Ragwort nods, turns back to face a sea of upturned faces eager to hear her words, a change of price in the offing, “FOUR COPPERS!” she calls out to a ripple as ruffles crowd, adds, “I CAN DO NO BETTER. Why…” speaks now as an aside to a farmer who stands the footboard of h

Tithe is paid to the Clan upon the Cliff, one tenth the value of all goods as travel east to west, west t’ east, along the high valley. Narrow does the glen cut a line of fair passage twixt knife-edged mountains as rise snow-capped to north and south, and the tithe has always been so; payment made in good faith at the mid-point, there where Piper’s Ford bridges wet ground and the traffic is slowed. Collected at the standing stones, placed there on the altar as waits, and alwa

Having taken an unintended writing break (bar writing short stories and dramatic whimsey) after completing Life of Maggot, I find I am again needing to play with words, so as to be ready when the Muse does eventually dance. Hence two blog posts in a week. This post, though, will be around one of my other main passions - watching film and TV - and today my thoughts on watching the film 'The Ballad of Buster Scruggs'. As a once prolific reader - child and adult - whose ability

Deep into Chaos she peers, gazes, wonders; sees there the madness from which dreams are made. Tiniest glimmer of hope as dances wild, bare to be seen among a complexity that is such disorder. Does think she dreams it, an imagining of her own making, a wishful thought no more real than there being such a thing as nothing; for nothing cannot exist. Not really. And so she stares ever the harder into the complexity of chaos and sees it true. A dream. Hers. Of there being order to