minna68

Sheets at Winward To cutlery He Was a bard. High, scrawny and dreamy. And his voice was diaphanous. He perfected a few seconds his harp while he was making use of the heat of the hearth in the fishermen's humble small house. His eyes were walking thoughtful along the expectant faces of his hosts. A marine old man twisted as a tree too much time exposed to the air of the sea, a woman who by force of having children and losing them in the waves had done to herself quite eyes and in her look one was already feeling the surf of the life. And a small quiet, still girl dressed as a boy filled with longing for sailing. The harpist strummed softl