Sippican Cottage

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sippicancottage

sippicancottage

A Man Who Has Nothing In Particular To Recommend Him Discusses All Sorts of Subjects at Random as Though He Knew Everything

Samhain Again

Roaring drunk and carrying salt and iron in the pockets of my cothamore inside-out. No dice. He’ll come again.The soul of the man murdered walks the earth on Samhain when the faerie mounds vomit their wards. I haunt the pubs, a guiser with a mask of bonhomie, but to no effect. He will find me.

You can kill a man every which way. That’s the trouble. You think there’ll be some shade feigning Ellen Terry and holding out a crown and dagger dripping, but murther usually sneaks up on you in this world and haunts you from the next. Did I do that? Is a pillow over a face, sleeping, less a murder than a stick-em-up roscoe to the temple? Are there degrees to it? I don’t think so. I never laid a finger on, but that’s the point. If you put your hand in your pocket when a man reaches for it in familiarity he’s done for. He died alone, but no rutabaga will ward him off me now.

You can starve a man out and say that he died of inanition and who’s fault’s that? I moved his stone in the Samhain ring without touching it. The smoke off the bones from a stranger’s fire could not save him. It had to be me. I offered a cold shoulder and a deaf ear to him and he went away, and now he walks at my elbow like an usher.

7 Responses

  1. Must be the winds. I feel a chill here. I just shuddered when I read this.

    When I read this FF, I want to participate. I want to write some sensible and pithy thing. Can't do it very well, but I want to.

  2. My luthier brother, Lex, has made me aware of guitar brands. I have never seen the likes of what Mr. Morrison is playing in that video.

  3. My luthier brother answered my question – that is a Rick Tuner Renaissance guitar that Mr. Morrison is playing. Seek and ye shall strum…

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