The Inn at the end of the road.

The Inn at the end of the road.

The End Inn-
at the end of it all, terra firma, the edge of even imagination, where the sun meets the stars, the moon might take a respite and sit to have a sip, space and time, for a time, put down their knives, for a spell or to spin one, a window is a gateway out on eternity, frosted over slightly, stained glass galaxies shine like cheap christmas lights, the beginning and the end, all in one point, The End Inn-
well worn walls welcome in, the age-d wood is warm and familiar, the patrons all strangers or not, admitted rumors, even the most surly of repute sit for a calm, a storm may brew outside and branches may bray and scratch nails, but not, not in here, within this confine, even without the light of heaven, there is divine providence shine, such as an open untouched meadow, tall grassy tails sway, tall tales to say, but all known to the travelers here, repeated as history, here at, The End Inn.
Paladins, thieves, scholars, sailors, salesmen, tailors, men of all endeavors and walks, from the high end towers to the seediest docks, but here, no judge, no learning eye, sins are tokens, shared like wine, a copper coin is the only toll, a fixed drink, over filled cups, a mixed crowd, the only clothing underneath is the common skin, the bond is one humanity, here, The End Inn-
so I pull up a chair, the barkeep swings down with a looking dare, a full froth of ale by candle’s light, so that I might join and regale, spin round my eyes and survey the room, for fellows and harlots in fullest of bloom, try as I might to recall names and surnames, just the same as common somewhere lost and found on my tongue, conversation comes out from the corners like the spring flashing rains, here and again gone, flashes, thunderous. boisterous roars, for I can not recall the time now, nor place, but I can count every face, sitting here, in my lot, knowing the comfort of this familiar plot, here – The End Inn.

notes… if you could have your own Fiddler’s Green … would you ? What would it be like ? I much imagine mine like the musings of Neil Gaiman in Sandman… the wandering land appearing here and there… I would like that.

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