the pomegranate tiger

I wasn't even sure this blog still existed. When I googled Pomegranate Tiger, the only results I saw were about the heavy metal rock band by the same name that I talked about a few years back in my post here.   They've obviously done a good job of social media branding! It's been so long that I have no idea who might read this. Perhaps this will become my dear diary, confessions and musings of a late life life. Maybe it doesn't matter. My reasons for being away aren't that interesting. In brief: I fell out with writing. I thought about it, but didn't do it. I don't regret it. Instead, I've done and experienced other things: renovated a kitchen, rediscovered a love of Shakespeare and crochet (in that order), discovered Doctor Who (new and classic), begun receiving government pensions (CPP and OAS), visited London (and didn't want to leave), saw a live RSC production of Richard II with David Tennant, visited Paris and had croissants at a sidewal...

Just because ... The Pillar Box by  G. K. Chesterton A stranger garbed outlandishly Came to our town beside the sea “In mine own city” thus he said— “There stands a little man in red Who in the steep street standeth still And morn and even eats his fill Of tales untold, wild truths and lies Small wars and secret chivalries You may walk round him as may be He guards his secrets soldierly— A quaint red tower not three feet wide And chased the liar with a crowd And thousands of men's souls inside.” Some, hearing mocked the tale aloud Some smote and scattered cruelly His blood upon the stones, but he Still wore his happy sunset smile Till after rambling many a mile He met a man beside the sea Who answered very quietly “A common pillar-box: accord I ready credence” at that word The gentle stranger frail of limb In still scorn laid a hand on him With eyes that blazed like magic stones And shook him like a bag of bones. . . . I found a snippet ...