Mark Spain Pure Elegance

Vetinari always enjoyed his occasional conversations with Leonard. The man always referred to the city as if it was another world.
'Yes.'
'I hope you . 'Normally that involves gods of some sort, does it not?'
'Did I use the word? I can't imagine there is a god of gonnes.'
'It is quite hard, yes.'
The Patrician shifted uneasily, reached down behind him, and pulled out an object.
'What,' he said, 'is this?'
'Oh, I wondered where that had gone,' said Leonardhave impressed upon him the importance of the task.''In a way. I've absolutely forbidden him to undertake it. Twice.'Leonard nodded. 'Ah. I . . . think I understand. I hope it works.'He sighed.'I suppose I should have dismantled it, but . . . it was so clearly a made thing. I had this strange fancy I was merely assembling something that already existed. Sometimes I wonder where I got the whole idea. It seemed . . . I don't know . . . sacrilege, I suppose, to dismantle it. It'd be like dismantling a person. Biscuit?''Dismantling a person is sometimes necessary,' said Lord Vetinari.'This, of course, is a point of view,' said Leonard da Quirm politely.'You mentioned sacrilege,' said Lord Vetinari

Claude Monet Houses of Parliament London

friends are dwarfs. My parents are dwarfs. Trolls? No problem at all with trolls. Salt of the earth. Literally. Wonderful chaps under all that crust. But . . . undead . . . I just wish they'd go back to where they came from, that's all.'
'Most of them came from round here.'
'I just don't like 'em. Sorry.'
'I've got to go,' expelled from the Thieves' Guild for unnecessary enthusiasm and conduct unbecoming in a mugger, and a desperate man. An isolated woman in a dark alley was just about what he felt he could manage.
He glanced around, and followed her in.said Angua, coldly. She paused at the dark entrance of an alley.'Right. Right,' said Carrot. 'Um. When shall I see you again?''Tomorrow. We're in the same job, yes?''But maybe when we're off duty we could take a—''Got to go!'Angua turned and ran. The moon's halo was already visible over the rooftops of Unseen University.'OK. Well. Right. Tomorrow, then,' Carrot called after her. Angua could feel the world spinning as she stumbled through the shadows. She shouldn't have left it so long!She stumbled out into a cross-street with a few people in it and managed to make it to an alley mouth, pawing at her clothes . . .She was seen by Bundo Prung, recently

Henri Matisse Odalisques

through the worn soles of his boots telling him he was in Acre Alley, no-one would have believed that they were looking at a man who was very soon going to marry the richest woman in Ankh-Morpork.

Chubby was not a happy dragon.
He missed the forge. He'd quite liked it in the forge. He got all the coal he could eat and the blacksmith hadn't been a particularly unkind man. Chubby had not demanded much out of life, and had got it.
Then this large woman had taken him away and put him in a pen. There had been other dragons around. Chubby didn't particularly 'We are settled down, Fred,' said Corporal Nobbs.
'That's Sergeant to you, Nobby,' said Sergeant Colon.
'What do we have to sit down for anyway? We didn't used to do all this. I feel a right berk, sitting down listenin' to you goin' on about—'
'We got to do it proper, now there's more of us,' said Sergeant like other dragons. And people'd given him unfamiliar coal.He'd been quite pleased when someone had taken him out of the pen in the middle of the night. He'd thought he was going back to the blacksmith.Now it was dawning on him that this was not happening. He was in a box, he was being bumped around, and now he was getting angry . . . Sergeant Colon fanned himself with his clipboard, and then glared at the assembled guards.He coughed.'Right then, people,' he said. 'Settle down.'

Cao Yong KOI POND

Cao Yong KOI PONDCao Yong GIRL WITH MUSICIANCao Yong GARDEN SPLENDOR
Thought I saw something fly across the moon, and I’m damn sure it wasn’t Esme.”
Casanunda tried to look around while keeping his eyes shut.
244
LORQ8 ftttO ift0/£6
“Elves Ogg, “that a broom-stick stays up longer. And you can use it to keep the house clean, which is more than you can say for—are you all right?”
“I really don’t like this at all, Mrs. Ogg.”
“Just trying to cheer you up, Mr. Casanunda.”
“’Cheer’ I like, Mrs. Ogg,” said the dwarf, “but can we avoid the ‘up’?”
“Soon be down.”
“That I like.”can’t fly,” he muttered.“That’s all you know,” said Nanny. “They ride yarrow stalks.”“Yarrow stalks?”“Yep. Tried it meself, once. You can get some lift out of ‘em, but it plays merry hell with the gussets. Give me a nice bundle of bristles every time. Anyway,” she nudged Casanunda, “you should be right at home on one of these.Magrat says a broomstick is one of them sexual metaphorthings.”*Casanunda had opened one eye just long enough to see a rooftop drift silently below him. He felt sick.“The difference being,” said Nanny

Francois Boucher Brown Odalisk

Francois Boucher Brown OdaliskFrancois Boucher Are They Thinking About the GrapFrancois Boucher An Autumn Pastoral
LORQ6 ft/VQ l.ft0/£8
“Well, the way I see it, it’s up to you to make your own water,” said Nanny, picking up a cold roast chicken leg from the buffet and stuffing it up a sleeve.
“Don’t drink too much. We’ve got to keep alert, Gytha.
Remember what I said. Don’t let yourself get distracted—“
“That’s never the delectable Mrs. Ogg, is it?”
Nanny turned.“Well, we could have done.”
“Fancy you turning up here,” said Nanny, weakly. The thing about Casanunda, she recalled, was that the harder you slapped him down the faster he bounced back, often in an unexpected direction.
“Our stars are entwined,” said Casanunda. “We’re fated for one another. I wants your body, Mrs. Ogg.”
“I’m still using it.”
And while she suspected, quite accurately, that this was an approach the world’s second greatest lover used on There was no one behind her.“Down here,” said the voice.She looked down, into a wide grin.“Oh, blast,” she said.“It’s me, Casanunda,” said Casanunda, who was dwarfed still further by an enormous* powdered wig. “You remem-ber? We danced the night away in Genua?”“No we didn’t.”

Pop art king elvis on red

Pop art king elvis on redPop art kim gordon on bluePop art green on greenPop art chuck berry on pink
to be whiteof a night sky. There was a ring of riders waiting a little way from the stones, with the Queen slightly ahead. Every witch knew her, or the shape of her.
Diamanda tripped and fell, and then managed to bring herself up to a kneeling position.
Granny stopped.
The Queen’s horse whinnied.
“Kneel before your Queen, you,” said the elf. She was wearing red, with a copper crown in her hair.
“Shan’t. Won’t,” said Granny Weatherwax., because it was snow. But patterns ofcolor moved across it, reflecting the wild dance of the per-manent aurora in the skyDiamanda was struggling. Her footwear was barely suit-able for a city summer, and certainly not for a foot of snow. Whereas Granny Weatherwax’s boots, even without their hobnails, could have survived a trot across lava.Even so, the muscles that were propelling them had been doing it for too long. Diamanda was outrunning her.113Terry PratchettMore snow was falling, out

Andy Warhol Buttons

Andy Warhol ButtonsAndy Warhol Basket of FlowersNicolas De Stael Sky in HonfleurNicolas De Stael Noon Landscape
ft/YO Lft0/£6
“No, Archchancellor, I was merely pointing out—“
“It’s not wormholes again, is it?”
Stibbons gave up. Stibbons stared at his plate. It was no good arguing. What he had really wanted out of life was to spend the next hundred years of it in the University, eating big meals and not moving much in between them. He was a plump young man with a complexion the color of something that lives under a rock. People were always telling him to make some-thing of his life, and that’s what he wanted to do. He wanted to make a bed of it.
“But, Archchancellor,” said the Lecturer in Recent Runes, “it’s still too damn far.”
“Nonsense,” said Ridcully. “They’ve got that new turn-
pike open all the way to Sto Helit now. Coaches everyUsing a metaphor in front of a man as unimaginative as Ridcully was like a red rag to a bu—was like putting something very annoying in front of someone who was annoyed by it.It was very hard, being a reader in Invisible Writings.“I reckon you’d better come too,” said Ridcully.“Me, Archchancellor?”“Can’t have you skulking around the place inventing mil-lions of other universes that’re too small to see and all the rest of that continuinuinuum stuff,” said Ridcully. “Anyway, I shall need someone to carry my rods and crossbo—my stuff,” he corrected himself.

Mark Spain Blue Dress On Gold

Mark Spain Blue Dress On GoldMark Spain After HoursMark Spain A Moment Of Tranquility
they became identifiable as three female figures on broomsticks, flying in a manner reminiscent of the famous three plaster flying ducks.
Observe like an apple that’s been left for too long and an expression of near-terminal good nature. She is playing a banjo and, until a better word comes to mind, singing. It is a song about a hedgehog.
Unlike the broomstick belonging to the first figure, which is more or less unburdened except for a sack or two, this one is overladen with things like fluffy purple toy don-keys, corkscrews in the shape of small boys urinating, bot-tles of wine in straw baskets, and other international cultural items. Nestling among them is the smelliest and most evil-minded cat in the world, currently asleep.
The third, and definitely the last, broomstick rider is also the youngest. Unlike the other two, who them closelyThe first one—let us call her the leader—flies sitting bolt12LQRQ6 ftffQ ift0/£6upright, in defiance of air resistance, and seems to be win-ning. She has features that would generally be described as striking, or even handsome, but she couldn’t be called beau-tiful, at least by anyone who didn’t want their nose to grow by three feet.The second is dumpy and bandy-legged with a face

Alfred Gockel Moved By The Music V

Alfred Gockel Moved By The Music VWassily Kandinsky UpwardWassily Kandinsky In Blue
Nod, smile.
"Never say a bloody word, do you?" said Deacon Cusp.
Smile, smile.
"Idiot."
Smile. Smile. Watch.

few finishing touches to the Moving Turtle. There were serrated edges to the shell and spikes on the wheels. And of course the waste steam pipe . . . he was a little uncertain about the waste steam pipe . . .
"It's merely a device," said Simony. "It does not present a problem."
"Give us an hour, then. You should just get to the Temple by the time we get the doors open."
"Right. Understood. Off you go. Sergeant Fergmen knows Urn stood back."Now," he said, "you sure you've got it all?""Easy," said Simony, who was sitting in the Turtle's saddle."Tell me again," said Urn."We-stoke-up-the-firebox," said Simony. "Then-when-the­red-needle-points-to-xxvi, turn-the-brass-tap; when-the-bronze-whistle-blows, pull-the-big-lever. And steer by pulling the ropes.""Right," said Urn. But he still looked doubtful. "It's a precision device," he said."And I am a professional soldier," said Simony. "I'm not a superstitious peasant.""Fine, fine. Well . . . if you're sure . . . 'They'd had time to put a

Steve Thoms Field of Red and Gold

Steve Thoms Field of Red and GoldPedro Alvarez Tango ArgentinoCassius Marcellus Coolidge A Bold BluffEdvard Munch NudeEdvard Munch Moonlight
can only be that, master. The keepers of the labyrinth are unbribable."
Didactylos clipped Urn across the back of the head with his lantern.
"Stupid boy! I've told you about that sort of statement."
"I mean, they are not easily bribable, master. Not for all the gold in Omnia, for example."
"That's more like it."
"Do you think that tortoise was a god, master?"
"He's going to be in big trouble in Omnia if he is. They've got a bastard of a god there. Did you ever read old Abraxas?"was a thinker and no mistake. I didn't know some of this stuff. Sit down!"
Brutha obeyed.
"Right," said Om. "Now . . . listen. Do you know how gods get power?"
"By people believing in them," said Brutha. "Millions of people believe "No, master.""Very big on gods. Big gods man. Always smelled of burnt hair. Naturally resistant." Om crawled slowly along the length of a line."Stop walking up and down like that," he said, "I can't concentrate.""How can people talk like that?" Brutha asked the empty air. "Acting as if they're glad they don't know things! Finding out more and more things they don't know! It's like children proudly coming to show you a full potty!"Om marked his place with a claw."But they find things out," he said. "This Abraxas

Raphael The Sistine Madonna

Raphael The Sistine MadonnaWilliam Bouguereau BiblisWilliam Bouguereau Nymphs and Satyr.
horses edged along the jetty and were led one at a time up the gangplank. By this time the box was vibrating. Brutha kept looking around guiltily, but no one else was taking any notice. Despite his size, Brutha was easy not to notice. Practically everyone had better things to do with their time than notice someone like Brutha. Even "I couldn't talk!" said Brutha. "People were with me all the time! Can't you . . . read the words in my mind? Can't you read my thoughts?"
"Mortal thoughts aren't like that," snapped Om. "You think it's like watching words paint themselves across the sky? Hah! It's like trying to make sense of a bundle of weeds. Intentions, yes. Emotions, yes. But not thoughts. Half the time you don't know what you're thinking, so why should I?"Vorbis had switched him off, and was talking to the captain.He found a place up near the pointed end, where one of the sticking-up bits with the sails on gave him a bit of privacy. Then, with some dread, he opened the box.The tortoise spoke from deep within its shell."Any eagles about?"Brutha scanned the sky."No."The head shot out."You-” it began.

jasper johns Target with Four Faces

jasper johns Target with Four FacesSalvador Dali ArgusJohannes Vermeer The Little Street
undersea chasms, GOOD AFTERNOON.
He turned away as if he had completed all necessary business for the time being, stared at the horizon for a while, and WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, MAN?
Rincewind was nonplussed. 'Don't you make an appearance when a wizard is about to die?'
OF COURSE. AND I MUST SAY YOU PEOPLE ARE GIVING ME A BUSY DAY
'How do you manage to be in so many places at the same time?'
GOOD ORGANISATION.started to tap one foot idly. It sounded like a bagful of maracas.'Er,' said Rincewind.Death appeared to remember him. I'M SORRY? he said politely.'I always wondered how it was going to be,' said Rincewind.Death took an hourglass out from the mysterious folds of his ebon robes and peered at it.DID YOU? he said, vaguely.'I suppose I can't complain,' said Rincewind virtuously. 'I've had a good life. Well, quite good.' He hesitated. 'Well, not all that good. I suppose most people would call it pretty awful.' He considered it further. 'I would,' he added, half to himself.

Thomas Moran Colburn's Butte, South Utah

Thomas Moran Colburn's Butte, South UtahThomas Moran Cliffs of the Upper Colorado riverThomas Moran Cliffs of Green River
slightly, as if he was trying to remember something he'd seen somewhere, 'the time will come when all wizardry has gone from the face of the world and the sons of, of - anyway, we can all be a bit more practical about things,' he added lamely.
'Read it in a book, did you?’ said Rincewind sourly. Any geas in it?'
'He's got a 'What? No! It says I'm a wizard, that's what! Twenty years behind the staff, and proud of it! I've done my time, I have! I've pas - I've sat dozens of exams! If all the spells I've read were piled on top of one another, they'd ... it'd ... you'd have a lot of spells!'
'Yes, but-’ Conina began.
'Yes?'
'You're not actually very good at them, are youpoint,' said Conina. 'I've nothing against wizards, but it's not as if they do much good. There just a bit of decoration, really. Up to now.'Rincewind pulled off his hat. It was battered, stained and covered with rock dust, bits of it had been sheared off, the point was dented and the star was shedding sequins like pollen, but the word "blizzard" was still just readable under the grime.'See this?' he demanded, red in the face. 'Do you see it? Do you? What does it tell you?''That you can't spell?' said Nijel.

Thomas Kinkade bloomsbury cafe

Thomas Kinkade bloomsbury cafeEdward Hopper The Martha McKeen of WellfleetEdward Hopper Rocks and Sea
over his head, could not hear.
And then there was a faint, ordinary tinkling noise, such as might be made by a fused and twisted metal cleaver dropping . Now he had their full attention.

'What is this place?' said Conina.
Rincewind looked around him, and made a guess.
They were still in the heart of Al Khali. He could hear the hum of it beyond the walls. But in the middle of the teeming city someone had cleared a vast space, walled it off, and planted a garden so romantically natural that it looked as real as a sugar pig.on to flagstones.It was the sort of noise that makes the silence that comes after it roll forward like a warm avalanche.The Librarian wrapped the silence around him like a cloak and stood staring up at the rank on rank of books, each one pulsing faintly in the glow of its own magic. Shelf after shelf looked down[14] at him. They had heard. He could feel the fear.The orang-utan stood statue-still for several minutes, and then appeared to reach a decision. He knuckled his way across to his desk and, after much rummaging, pro­duced a heavy key-ring bristling with keys. Then he went back and stood in the middle of the floor and said, very deliberately, 'Oook.'The books craned forward on their shelves

Gustav Klimt Apple Tree I

Gustav Klimt Apple Tree ISalvador Dali Persistence of MemorySalvador Dali Metamorphosis of Narcissus
CURRENT TEMPERATURES IN THE NEXT WORLD.
'Then,' Ipslore hesitated, 'then they shall have their chance when my son throws his staff away.'
NO WIZARD WOULD EVER THROW HIS STAFF AWAY, said Death. THE BOND IS TOO GREAT.
'Yet it is possible, you must agree.'
Death appeared to consider this. Must was not a word he was accustomed to hearing, but he seemed to concede the point.
Death gave him a puzzled look. I'M SORRY?
The storm reached its howling peak overhead. A seagull went past backwards.
'I meant,' said Ipslore, bitterly, 'what is there in this AGREED, he said.'Is that a small enough chance for you?'SUFFICIENTLY MOLECULAR.Ipslore relaxed a little. In a voice that was nearly normal, he said: 'I don't regret it, you know. I would do it all again. Children are our hope for the future.'THERE IS NO HOPE FOR THE FUTURE, said Death.'What does it contain, then?'ME.'Besides you I mean!'

Pino Purity

Pino PurityPablo Picasso Three Women at the SpringPablo Picasso Three Dancers
more than corn. They whirled through tiny crowded lives, driven literally by clock work, filling their days from edge to edge with the sheer effort of living. And all lives were exactly the same length. Even the very long and very short ones. From the point of view of eternity, anyway.
Somewhere, the tiny voice of Bill Door said: from the point of view of the owner, longer ones are best.
SQUEAK.
Death looked down.
A small figure was standing by his feet.
He reached down and picked it up, held it up to an investigative eye socket.
I KNEW I’D MISSED SOMEONE.

The Death of Rats nodded.
SQUEAK?
.
ALONE . . .Death shook his head.NO, I CAN’T LET YOU REMAIN, he said. IT’S NOT AS THOUGH I’M RUNNING A FRANCHISE OR SOMETHING.SQUEAK?ARE YOU THE ONLY ONE LEFT?The Death of Rats opened a tiny skeletal hand. The tiny Death of Fleas stood up, looking embarrassed but hopeful.NO. THIS SHALL NOT BE. I AM IMPLACABLE. I AM DEATH . . . ALONE.He looked at the Death of Rats.He remembered Azrael in his tower of loneliness
The Death of Rats looked back at him.
SQUEAK?
Picture a tall, dark figure, surrounded by cornfields

Claude Monet Snow at Argenteuil

Claude Monet Snow at ArgenteuilClaude Monet Houses of Parliament LondonClaude Monet Custom Officer's Cabin at Varengville
living tissue that had powered them. The walls pulsed and caved inwards, the marble cracking to reveal purple and pinkness underneath. Of course, thought a tiny calm part of Windle’s mind, none of this is really real. Buildingstry to see to it that the others get out all right. Let’s make my presence felt . . .
He reached down, grabbed a double handful of pulsating tubes, and heaved.
The Queen’s screech of rage was heard all the way to the University.
The storm clouds sped towards the hill. They piled up in a towering mass, very fast. Lightning flashed, somewhere in the core. THERE’S TOO MUCH LIFE AROUND, said Death. NOT THAT I’M ONE TO COMPLAIN aren’t really alive. It’s all just a metaphor, only at the moment metaphors are like candles in a firework factory. That being said, what sort of creature is the Queen? Like a queen bee, except she’s also the hive. Like a caddis fly, which builds, if I’m not mistaken, a shell out of bits of stone and things, to camouflage itself. Or like a nautilus, which adds on to its shell as it gets bigger. And very much, to judge by the way the floors are ripping up, like a very angry starfish. I wonder how cities would defend themselves against this sort of thing? Creatures generally evolve some sort of defence against predators. Poisons and stings and spikes and things.Here and now, that’s probably me. Spiky old Windle Poons. At least I can

Alphonse Maria Mucha JOB

Alphonse Maria Mucha JOBAlphonse Maria Mucha GismondaPierre Auguste Renoir The Umbrellas
eating big dinners, but in fact the HEM building has helped provide one of the rarest foods in the universe - antipasta. Ordinary pasta is prepared some hours before being eaten. Antipasta is created some hours after the meal, whereupon it then exists backwards in time, and if properly prepared should arrive on the taste buds at exactly‘Not just ghosts. Just - it’s like puddles. When you get a lot of puddles, it’s like the sea. Anyway, you only get ghosts from things like people. You don’t get ghosts of cabbages.’
Windle Poons sat back in his chair. He had a vision of a vast pool of life, a lake being fed by a million short-lived tributaries as living things came to the end of their the same moment, thus creating a true taste explosion. It costs five thousand dollars a forkful, or a ‘It’s like a thunderstorm, see? You know how you get that prickly feelin’ before a storm? That’s what’s happening now.’‘Yes, but why, Mrs Cake?’‘Well . . . One-Man-Bucket says nothing’s dying.’‘What?’‘Daft, isn’t it? He says lots of lives are ending, but not going away. They’re just staying here.’‘What, like ghosts?’

John William Waterhouse Lamia

John William Waterhouse LamiaVincent van Gogh The Yellow HouseLeonardo da Vinci Virgin of the Rocks
this afternoon and put some more seed down and five hundred years will just zoom past, you wait and see.’
‘The way things are going, I probably will,’ said Windle moodily. He looked around. ‘Is the Archchancellor here?’ he said. ‘I saw them all going up to the palace,’ said the gardener. ‘Then I think I’ll just .
‘By the way . . . where’s Elm Street?’
Modo scratched an ear.’Isn’t it that one off Treacle Mine Road?’
‘Oh, yes. I remember.’
Modo went back to his weeding.go and have a quick bath and a change of clothes. I wouldn’t want to disturb anyone.’‘I heard you wasn’t just dead but buried too, ‘ said the gardener, as Windle lurched off.‘That’s right.’‘Can’t keep a good man down, eh?’ indle turned back

Salvador Dali Argus

Salvador Dali ArgusJohannes Vermeer The Little StreetJohannes Vermeer Mistress and Maid
Mrs Cake was very keen on religion, at least on Mrs Cake’s terms. Evadne Cake was not one of those bead-curtain-and-incense mediums, partly because she didn’t hold with incense but mainly because she was actually very good at her profession. A good conjurer can astound you with a simple box of matches and a perfectly could have a revelation in a panful of frying bacon. She had spent a lifetime dabbling in the spirit world, except that in Evadne’s case dabbling wasn’t really apposite. She wasn’t the dabbling kind. It was more a case of stamping into the spirit world and demanding to see the manager.
And, while making her breakfast and cutting up dogfood for Ludmilla, she started to hear voices. They were very faint. It wasn’t that they were on the verge of hearing, because they were the kind of voices that ordinary ears can’t hear. They were inside her head.ordinary deck of cards, if you would care to examine them, sir, you will see they are a perfectly ordinary deck of cards - he doesn’t need the finger-nipping folding tables and complicated collapsible top hats of lesser prestidigitators. And, in the same way, Mrs Cake didn’t need much in the way of props. Even the industrial-grade crystal ball was only there as a sop to her customers. Mrs Cake could actually read the future in a bowl of porridge. * She

Andy Warhol Diamond Dust Shoes

Andy Warhol Diamond Dust ShoesAndy Warhol daisy 1982Andy Warhol Camouflage green yellow white
The wizards said, what about easy terms?
The Patrician said he was talking about easy terms. They wouldn’t want to know about the hard terms.
The make an entirely voluntary donation of, oh, let’s say two hundred dollars per head, without prejudice, mutatis mutandis, no strings attached, to be used strictly for non-militaristic and environmentally-acceptable purposes.

It was this dynamic interplay of power blocs that made Ankh-Morpork
such an interesting, stimulating and above all bloody dangerous place in
which to live. *

Thomas Gainsborough Conversation in a Park

Thomas Gainsborough Conversation in a ParkSandro Botticelli Madonna with the ChildSandro Botticelli Madonna and ChildSandro Botticelli Madonna and Child and Two AngelsJean Beraud The Theatre des Varietes
makes the Counting Pines particularly noteworthy, however, is the way they count.
Being dimly aware that human beings had learned to tell the age of a tree by counting the rings, the original Counting Pines decided that this was why humans cut trees down.
Overnight every Counting Pine readjusted its genetic code to produce, at about eye-level on its trunk, in pale letters, its precise age. Within a year they were felled almost into extinction by the ornamental house number plate industry, and only a very few survive in hard-to-reach areas. The six Counting Pines in this clump were listening to the oldest, whose gnarled trunk declared it to be thirty-one thousand, seven hundred and thirty-four years ‘Went where?’
‘Where things go. Everything’s always rushing off.’
‘Wow. That was a sharp one.’
‘What was?’ old. The conversation took seventeen years, but has been speeded up.‘I remember when all this wasn’t fields.’The pines stared out over a thousand miles of landscape. The sky flickered like a bad special effect from a time travel movie. Snow appeared, stayed for an instant, and melted.‘What was it, then?’ said the nearest pine. ‘Ice. If you can call it ice. We had proper glaciers in those days. Not like the ice you get now, here one season and gone the next. It hung around for ages.’‘What happened to it, then?’‘It went.’
‘That winter just then.’