A Corner of the Preserve, Saturday Afternoon
"It could be entirely worse, of course," Chaucer informed his audience. "All things considered, nudity is but a trifle in the great scope of things. Just another attribute that, in the grand scheme of matters, adds to the trudging quality of this existence."
His audience didn't respond. It simply moved along with him, into the preserve.
"One has to have a certain level of weariness to be a true writer, I do feel. A certain... plodding quality to one's walk. A world-weariness borne of experience--" he brushed some leaves away from potentially dangerous areas as he walked, "--and fortitude."
His audience ducked under the branches, bouncing happily along.
"For really, what is writing if not the elevation of the human spirit and story? Certainly, somewhat exaggerated, but all good stories need exaggeration-- the removal of my clothes becomes an allegory for the endless depths of poverty."
His audience barked once and drooled on his leg.
"I think I'm going to name you Wat."
[ open to a certain behorsed medieval type. Yep, Jeff is Geoff ]
His audience didn't respond. It simply moved along with him, into the preserve.
"One has to have a certain level of weariness to be a true writer, I do feel. A certain... plodding quality to one's walk. A world-weariness borne of experience--" he brushed some leaves away from potentially dangerous areas as he walked, "--and fortitude."
His audience ducked under the branches, bouncing happily along.
"For really, what is writing if not the elevation of the human spirit and story? Certainly, somewhat exaggerated, but all good stories need exaggeration-- the removal of my clothes becomes an allegory for the endless depths of poverty."
His audience barked once and drooled on his leg.
"I think I'm going to name you Wat."
[ open to a certain behorsed medieval type. Yep, Jeff is Geoff ]