I have two dreamwidth invite codes here if anyone's interested.

Tonight is a rainy, sulky tawny port night.  I love port bottle corks.  A long, long time ago I found myself in Fatima, Portugal for three weeks.  I saw no apparitions, but I did see a bottle of port, shared with an old lost friend every night on the flat roof-top terrace of the Dominican boarding house we were staying in.  I could hear the choirs singing in the basilica, watch pilgrims crawling on their knees down a well-worn path.  We took a bus to Obidos  a Medieval walled city closed anything but foot-traffic.  Over another bottle of port my friend and I stood outside the crumbling walls, looked out over hills and vineyards.  Possessed by some demon, my friend and I decided to get married. He gave me a tarnished, silver ring.  We had a perfect wedding in an perfect old cathedral in the US (as old as it gets around here).  My dress was made of hand-woven, Irish lace.  The communion wine was tawny port.  The demon moved on to another target soon after.  I go on record  to state that I had the shortest marriage ever -  inspired by iconographic bewitchment and port wine.

So I open the bottle tonight, the perfect port cork, and I drink to you, old friend - wherever you are (when we last spoke, you told me that you had  twins with a new wife, so you need all the blessings you can get - communion is out of the question unless you or I fork over the money for the annulment).  Here's to Croatia, alt-country, chess, the damned piano that someone needs to move out of my office, and the horse that I bought instead of a boat.  I named the gelding Home-wrecker and he went on to a great life in the low-hunters.

On a decidedly less maudlin note: I am working through two Schwarz snippet revisions and promise to earnestly commit myself to The Forgotten Tree this week.  I forgot how to write for a month.


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