Hobit Hovel

Wheeler Falls & Hobit Hovel © Ken James McLeod

I've come down off the mountain from thy retreat to the gloom of the retched concrete jungle where each home has a manicured lawn and driveway with more than two fancy cars in it, even the chickens and vegetable gardens are gone.  And there is no longer the smell of baking bread.  Oh what have we become?   Thus, I retreat. And as I did so I thought of an excuse though I really needed none: I was reminded by the passage of words recalled from the great short story "Rip Van Winkle."

"Surely, " thought Rip, "I have not slept here all night." He recalled the occurrences before he fell asleep. The strange man with the keg of liquor -- the mountain ravine -- the wild retreat among the rocks -- the woe-begone party at ninepins -- the flagon -- "oh! that flagon! that wicked flagon!" thought Rip, -- "what excuse shall I make to Dame Van Winkle?"

excerpt from Rip Van Winkle by Washington Irving

KJM

(McPilchuck)

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