Paleolithic Tregizmo
A friend of mine recently posted a poem on the theme of a stone age hunt, that made reference to the exigencies of winter. I was stirred by his imagery to carry on the story... Wind rises, the sun is pale; Leaves go brilliant and finally pall; Wise creatures burrow deep seeking the peace and safety of sleep and the snow begins to fall... The People see the summer fail and gather closer to the fire; Meat is smoked against the days when going to hunt no longer pays: The blue smoke rises ever... Sign in to see full entry.