. . . their progress so slow it was imperceptible, in their venerable two hundred-year-old shells, as our car sped past to the airport. To them, we were nothing but a passing blur. Gone in a flash.
Category: Essays
Walking in the wind
When we arrive in Santa Elena the wind has been already been blowing for 24 hours, downing trees and sending roofs sailing all over town.
Fifteen Thousand Miles
The Taiko drum starts. Thump thump thump. The chanting begins, a breakneck liturgy in an insistent monotone. The timpani accentuates. Clang clang clang.
