Gawain & the Holly Man
I felt the need to talk Holly Talk after chatting with a friend on Facebook who had a "situation" with her Holly. Gawain, Gawain, tumbling down, falling, falling, falling. Here is a Hall. A King’s Hall. The smell of smouldering peat and apple-wood, of roast meats, old bones and wet dogs. Where am I? Here, says the voice inside your head. Come in! Come in! I welcome you. There is a lady, dark and fair, with raven hair. Green eyes melt you. Sitting now, you hold the wooden table hard, fearing to float again, the Hall will melt and you be falling, falling, falling. Ba-Boom! Thunder at the doors. Ba-Boom! Again the thunder roars. Ba-Boom! Open! The doors fly open, wind whistles the snow around your ears. Blind, you see the darkness fill the doorway. Your heart makes thunder softly in your breast, ...