Category Archives: albion

Fate of the Lir-Brood: Devra…

* Come, brothers three, accost the coast And welcome Lir’s resplendent host Such woeful welcome from a fateful morn Will never bring to him bright morrow Unhappy sire, doomed, forlorn Left ever to mourn in hopeless sorrow. * …Eva arrived … Continue reading

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Magical Elements… Stuart France

Air Earth Water Fire From such simple devices the ancients sought to traverse the stars * Most people, if asked, would claim to be familiar with these elements largely because in the physical world they can recognise substances which, today, … Continue reading

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Ancestral Cluster… Stuart France

* “Wonder what they talk about?” “Whatever we give them to talk about.” “Not going to be best pleased then?” “Possibly not.” * Reblogged from Stuart France

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Fate of the Lir-Brood: Eve…

* Our bed now rock of dripping-caves Our lullaby a thunderous roar of waves Royal-couches once our sleepy heads did press And every night the harpist’s art, caress. * …”Submit to the king, choose a wife from his fosterage and … Continue reading

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Caladur: Musings… Stuart France

* … And as the hermit entered in at his doorway, the shadow was momentarily cool and dark upon him, and then he was gone from sight like a fox to its earth. * But Ewan mused awhile longer on … Continue reading

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Fate of the Lir-Brood…

* Finnola, once my pride and joy Dark Aedh, of adventures bold Bright Fiachra, gentle, playful boy Little Conn, with curls of gold. * The Crafty-Ones met to choose their Chieftain. Five there were in the running… Red-Bove, Angus-Ever-Young, Ilbrec … Continue reading

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Caladur: The Hermit… Stuart France

* …Ewan sat down to take in the hermitage. The house was small and secret, and it warmed his heart to think on it. The carving of the stone was simple, yet displayed the careful art of him that had … Continue reading

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The Story Teller’s Art…

* In ‘Sunken Cities’ the author, A.J. North, contends that in Math the son of Mathonwy, one of the Four Branches of the Mabinogion, we have an instance of what can only be regarded as racial memory. In this story, … Continue reading

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Caladur: Hermitage… Stuart France

* …Before long Ewan emerged from the dark wood to find himself standing in an open grove of silver birches… Beyond the grove ran a stream, burbling, and beyond the stream was a bank with great beeches on it. * … Continue reading

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Caladur: Dark Wood… Stuart France

* …So, Ewan walked on alone into the high wood, and for a time the sun was obsccured by the thick pines which clustered above his head. * As he walked it came into his mind that he was now … Continue reading

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