Evening sun falls on the Western lands and a peculiar stillness hangs in the air. Frozen faces, their jaws set and eyes blank, hang amidst a mass of silent screams and instinctual, animal howls. Flesh rises red, blue and black and arcs of claret fly from worked stick bludgeons. Spheres of red and orange burst, posey-like, over bared chests and bloodied noses and those who have already tasted their kiss kneel, bloodshot eyes asking 'why' even as they are blinded with tears.

Not far away wrinkled folk and not-grown folk and the fit and the maimed pause over the simple necessities. Hands raise to mouths, cupping steaming sweet sustenance, and pairs of hands fling covers to shelter and warm. Others huddle around motionless flames, basking in light and life, reassuring radiance. Across the dirt, other figures mirror these people, with hands of hot spiced waters, bodies wrapped in reeds against the wind.

One group and another, they think of family and simple comforts. They chatter with people they know and people they don't, they forget about the weight of the world around them and think of home and their lives beyond this one moment in history.

Fire, ashes drifting on the night air from some distant blaze.
Is that light on the horizon the sunset or the sunrise or the flames?
Fatboys and megatons bloom beyond the hills. Clouds clear in the blastwave and treetops shake. Somewhere a car alarm wails, a Cassandra warning of tomorrow,
Wide winged vessel sails across the sky, its twin engine roar a dull buzzing that sets my teeth on edge.
How long as I been awake?
My eyes open and the clear blue sky is a disappointment.
Cars and commuters and morning TV news. This is not the day the world ends.
Still.
There is always tomorrow.

So here we are. So glad you could join me. Perhaps you would like a drink? Coffee, tea, something stronger? Very well.

It is a pleasure to welcome you to From the Fox-Hole. (the name is subject to change, by the way, it is more a place-holder than anything), a personal blog by me, Lily, to post and discuss creative writing of my own creation and point visitors - such as your good self - in the direction of writers and other artists whose work I appreciate.

The plan is for me to write something, anything, once a day at least five days out of seven. My plans never seem to come off quite right put there it is. We shall see how long I keep to it. It is primarily to give me some structure to my life and something concrete to do. Good luck to us all.