In the following story, all of the characters are totally fictive. For whomever it would be illegal, immoral or forbidden for any other reason whatsoever to read a story about love between two consenting young men is kindly requested to refrain from continuing. A photo album (pdf) concerning this story is available upon request marin.giustinian@laposte.net. This being said, I hope you enjoy the tale.
BARE ESSENTIALS
By Marin Giustinian
Nowadays, in the Outer Hebrides, Scotland
It was on a delightful, July afternoon when I saw Emory for the first time. I had just come over on the ferry from Oban to the Isle of Barra -- Castlebay, to be exact -- where I had made reservations in the old hotel. As I was walking up Pier Street, I happened upon him as he was playing his guitar, seated alone at an outside table of the Café Kisimul, enjoying the sun and a mug of coffee.
This guy's playing really impressed me. His music was not only brilliant, but there was something else in it, something deep and very moving. I listened, spellbound. When he had finished his tune, he looked up at me and smiled.
I smiled back, summoned my courage and walked up, with my pack still on my back.
"That was absolutely fabulous. I love the feeling you put into your music. Your technique is great, wonderful staccato in the allegro, but what touches me the most is the emotions you convey. Do you play here often?"
He had the bluest eyes I've ever seen.
"Not really, but thanks anyhow," he answered, "Would you be a musician, perchance?"
"Well, yes, I play the flute... in my humble way."
"What kind?"
"Just a simple recorder, a modest but faithful woodwind I always keep on me."
"I suppose you're just off the ferry."
I nodded.
"If you're not in a hurry, I'd really appreciate you playing something for me, yourself?"
I'm sure I blushed!
"Well, yes... I guess it's only fair! Just a minute. It's in here," I said, touching my backpack. Taking it off, I laid it down on the table bench, fished out my flute, happy in fact to play for somebody. I began 'Morning is Broken' by Cat Stevens. Surprise! He began strumming along with me! Surprised, I stopped.
"That's great! Go on!" he interjected.
"Sorry, your guitar..."
"Please! do carry on."
I began again from the top and he melted in perfectly. We finished by laughing together.
He exclaimed, "That was fun!"
"Yes, it was! Thank you! That's a great welcome to Barra!"
He stuck out his hand, "My name's Emory Kelburn. And you? Where are you from?"
In the sun, his eyes were even bluer and his smile had something mysterious about it. He was really very handsome.
"Glad to meet you. I'm Elijah Broughton, from Charlottesville, Virginia. I've just finished my Bachelor of Arts in Philosophy at the university there. My folks teach there too. This trip was my graduation present."
"Why Scotland?"
"My ancestors come from here. We don't know for sure, but it could be the Highlands or even the Hebrides, according to my mother... So I'm just wandering around, discovering, soaking in the vibrations and beauty of everything I come across, with no preset plans."
"Well, let's go vibrate with a beer!" he added, laughing as he put his guitar back in its case.
"I'm your man, the second round's on me! And you? Are you from Castlebay?"
He hesitated, then closed the case and said, "That's a long story, mate. Ready to go?"
I slung my backpack on one shoulder and away we went. Just a few minutes up, I spotted my hotel beside the Castlebay Bar.
"Is that the bar we're going to?"
"Yes, it is."
We went in. The atmosphere was nice. Not too fancy, not to rustic either.
"Looks like they do music here. There's a little stage and some sound equipment. Must be fun."
"Yeah, it's okay. Do you like brown beer?"
"Never tried..."
"You'll see!", then turning to the barman, "Hello Phil, two pints of 'Dark Island', please."
The name impressed me!
We lifted our pints, clinking them together.
"To music!"
There's nothing like the first gulp of beer when you're thirsty and that 'Dark Island' stuff was a powerful surprise!
Putting his pint back down on the table, he leaned over and said, "I'm still in town tomorrow. If you're not yet gone, perhaps we could we meet up and try out some more duets together? I'm sort of tired of playing only for myself!"
"I'd be thrilled. I thought I'd stay in Barra for two days before heading north and I'm sure my flute's tired of doing only solos too."
"We can meet, let's say, at two, just out front, there on the rocks. If the weather's wretched an usual, we'll find each other, here, inside. How's that?"
"That's perfect!"
We agreed to another pint and continued talking. He told me he was from Edinburgh but was living on his own on a nearby out island. I felt he wasn't eager to talk much about himself. In fact, he seemed to be a better listener than a talker. Rare boy!
I filled him in some about life in Charlottesville. He had heard about the girl getting killed during the white supremacy incident.
"America makes me afraid now..." he commented.
"Me too," I replied.
The conversation slowed down some, so I told him I had a room waiting for me in the hotel next door.
"After walking and camping in the Highlands for a week, I'm in dire need of a big bath and bed again!" I mentioned as I stood.
That made him laugh.
"I noticed you are a bit ripe -- but not offensively so!"
As we were going our separate ways, he tapped me on the shoulder and, with that special smile, simply stated, "I'm so glad we met -- really glad!"
"I am too."
"Enjoy your bath! See you tomorrow, mate!"
I soaked in seventh heaven, chin deep in the hotel's cheap smelling bubble bath. Then I shaved, put on my last pair of clean clothes and went out for a walk up and down the only street in town before coming back to the hotel for dinner. I decided to really splurge for a change! I ate for two, drank for three and slept like a babe, wallowing all over the big, wide bed. The next morning, I went to the launderette in the general store. I washed and dried all my clothes and even bought some new socks. Red! I felt like celebrating.
I visited the Heritage Centre, picked up some brochures and bought a little illustrated book about Barra and the islands south. I enjoyed a good sandwich for lunch at their snack bar and feeling like a prince, I strolled down to the rock in front of the bar.
Emory saw me coming and stood greeting me.
"Look at this great clear sky you brought us from Virginia!" he exclaimed, "I thought we could go down and play music on my boat. She's moored very nearby at the marina."
"I'm your guest..."
As we walked, I told him how much better I felt. He commented the fact that I looked a lot better too.
"How do I smell? -- Better?"
"I wasn't going to mention it -- but, yes, you do!"
His boat was the really seaworthy looking kind. A no-nonsense boat, not too big, a twenty-some footer with a pilot house and a little cuddy cabin in front. I noticed her name, Oran, and asked the meaning. Emory told me it was the Scottish Gaelic word for 'song'. He told me that he wanted to name her 'Aonghas', in reference to the local pagan god of music, art, sex and love, but he decided on Oran instead. I was easier to pronounce for people who don't speak Gaelic".
I thought it was really cool that the heathens put music, art, sex and love under the power and protection of a youthful, male divinity!
"How is he usually depicted? "Usually painted as a young man, bearing a great sword and song birds circling his head."
"I bought her, almost new, from a guy in Oban. You see, I had the project of living on Sandray Island and was camping there with my little tent and outboard sea skiff. I needed a bigger, more dependable boat to live there all year around, so I looked through the boat ads every day on internet and stuck luck finding this one. I called. What the bloke told me sounded good. Judging from the picture it was what I needed, so I took the ferry and we met. The price was right. I bought her on the spot. He invited me in with his wife and kids to stay overnight, the time the papers were written up and registered in the Maritime office. She had all the equipment necessary as well as a good, dependable, fisherman's sterndrive diesel motor. She was made for all weather cruising. She's not a fast boat, but a good steady runner and powerful enough to face bad seas. Once the formalities were over, I thanked the former owner and left Oban behind. In only eight, easy going hours, I was back to my campsite on Sandray Island. Yes, Aonghas is a wonderful god and his song, Oran, a great boat!"
"That's fascinating! What's your project on... what's the name of your island again?"
"Sandray -- My project? That's also a long story and I don't want to bore you. Let's make some music!"
I felt like I shouldn't insist. We were well installed in the cockpit, seated facing each other. The boat was gently rocking.
"Do you improvise?" asked Emory.
Suddenly terrorized at the idea, I replied, "I don't know how..."
"Well, listen to me improvising. You'll hear the theme and whenever you feel like it, you just blend in as it comes."
He closed his eyes and began playing and a melody took form, like a ritornello. I tried to catch on, find my way in.
"I can't do it, Emory -- I'm really stuck!"
"You're stuck because you only listen to the notes, your brain's analyzing the music, figuring out how to do something. You don't hear what I'm feeling and answer with your own feelings. Go ahead, now you play something, any theme, even a jingle you already know, a theme that makes you want to cry, or laugh, a theme that gives you a hard-on."
I was even more terrorized now.
"Just don't think about it, do it. Do the first thing that comes to your tongue, lips and fingers and not to your head..."
"But that's not how I..."
"Please Elijah! Just play, don't talk! Just let the music come out of you without thinking -- Let it come out... let it come out, like love!"
I don't really remember how it happened. It was probably when he said 'like love' that something broke inside me, freeing a new kind of energy. An unknown melody flowed out of my flute. A simple, summer song turned around my head, in space, covering me, making me feel like I was glowing. I played it over and over and felt my cock wake up too. My breathing deepened. My eyes closed and I swear, I felt love beating in my heart. My music was soaring, making love fall like gentle rain all around me and I felt free as a sea bird on wing, skimming the waves.
I opened my eyes and saw Emory playing with me, in me, his music and mine intertwined making tears fill my eyes. Our rhythms accelerated, our notes danced together, reaching a point of fusion with his arpeggios and my trills. We came at the same instant to a perfect conclusion. Then there was a gasp of silence before we burst out laughing. Laying our instruments down, we rose, congratulating ourselves, and beaming, we shook hands.
"It works, Elijah! You're fantastic! You're like Aonghas, with invisible songbirds fliting around your head!"
I giggled like a schoolboy. He was excited. I was too.
"Let's do it again. This time you start. I think I'll meet your music this time. I'll blend in as it comes out of you -- like love comes out!"
"That's the way we're made."
"What?"
"You know..." he smiled shrugging, as he indicated his crotch.
I'm sure I blushed as I realized what he said. We then laughed together over that basic reality of the way men's intimate organ expresses itself, heeding our basic nature!
"Yeah! You're right! Like love comes out. That's really how we're made!"
He picked up his guitar and looking at me straight in the eyes, a brand new theme flowed into silence. Then my flute's song swelled, overflowing into his. From one mood to another, we never stopped.
Happiness can hurt sometimes! Even though my lips were aching, and my fingertips burning, we rode the waves of our music until the last notes beached on a strand of silence. We congratulated ourselves this time with a short man-hug, tapping each other on the back.
"Elijah! What we're doing together is very powerful. I feel like I know you only by combining our music."
"Me too, but could you please tell me something about who you are with words and not only with your guitar? That is, if you feel like it and don't mind..."
"Wow! That's a real crash down! -- Sure, okay, but you know, turn about's fair play. I'd really like to know who you are too?"
"You start, then me. Okay?"
"Okay."
He took a deep breath, rubbed his hands together, then at me and began, "As you know, I'm from Edinburgh and now I live here. Other than basic high school, I studied mostly guitar, both folk and classical. I tried some college but never fitted in. I lived in with my mothers..."
"Mothers?"
"Yeah, I know it's not usual but I'm from a two mothers family. The one who put me into the world fell in love with another woman and they both raised me."
"Cool, but you have to have a father somewhere."
"He's in New Zealand. I was told that he was a business student in Edinburgh. My mother said he was just as beautiful as a girl. She went on to tell me that they got drunk at a party one night, went a little too far and wham-bam! Here I am! My genitor attested his paternity when I was born. I carry his name, but I've never seen him. My mother's girlfriend took over and he left, returning to Wellington. His very wealthy father, my New Zealand grandfather, sent my mother a substantial sum of money for my needs and opened a generous trust fund for me of which I could dispose once I turned eighteen. It was his way to justify that I'm a Kelburn, I guess. Anyhow, it's paying my installation on Sandray and since it's still gathering interest after eighteen years, I have all the cash I need."
Instinctively, I reached out and touched his hand, saying, "You must have been lonely, no brothers, no sisters, no father nor other menfolk in your life."
"Sure, I often felt lonely. I don't know why, but as a lad, I was sort of ashamed of my female-only parents. Later, in my teens, I was bold and blatant about it, even aggressively so. Nevertheless, my male bonds were the scouts and only two mates in the troop were what I called friends. I didn't make any effort to have more than those two -- they knew my family situation and never mentioned it. But, that's over now and I don't mind being by myself. I think I'm good company to myself. I enjoy nature, the things I study, the crafts I learn, my music, my devotions, my knitting..."
"What? You knit?"
"Yeah! I'm a very good knitter! My mothers run one of the most elegant fashion shops in Edinburgh. I was raised in high style. I enjoyed the glamour. But somehow, it got on my nerves. What I really needed was simple, natural things, you know, the bare essentials! No frills, no fashion, no fads! That's why I loved scouting, camping, doing natural, outdoor things. Deep down inside, I'm a very minimalist person. When I knit, I create only with undyed yarn, no fancy, Celtic stuff, just perl one, knit one, simple mesh knitting. The quality is in the fleece I hand spin! I only knit with lemonwood needles, the best of angora goat fleece mohair. Now I've decided to live like I knit, in the midst of pure, unthreatened, rugged nature, surrounded by few possessions, but of the finest quality. No more city for me. I guess I've become a post-new-age, save-the-planet kind of guy. As they say, nobody's perfect! Ha! But that's enough about me, Elijah. Now it's your turn."
"Well, you are a really fascinating fellow. As for me, I grew up in a house full of books, in a very middle-class family of university teachers. I'm the first born. Six years after me there is a very beautiful, boring, ordinary, typical, boy-crazy teenage sister, you know, long straight hair, desperately chewing on her smartphone, praying for a date. But like you, I was never much of a socialite. No sports, no girls, only the little folk group I belonged to. I too am a loner and love it that way! I guess I'm never bored nor overexcited either! I do enjoy myself, by myself, playing my music or walking miles, just watching life happen, waiting to see what fate has in store for me... like meeting up you!"
Emory reached over and put his hand on my arm, asking, out of the blue, "Listen Elijah, how would you like to come and spend a day or two with me on Sandray? I'm going back tomorrow. It's just a thirty to forty minute cruise from here. I need to buy groceries. The stock of firewood I ordered was delivered yesterday and I've got to load it and carry it back. Also I must stop by the fries' shop and restaurants to collect the used vegetable oil for my little diesel engine here," he said, patting the top of the motor compartment.
Puzzled, I asked, "What's the deal about vegetable oil for your motor?"
"I told you I'm a radical no-fossil-fuel freak. When I moved here, I decided to not use any kind of petrol. My diesel inboard loves to run on vegetable oil. Works great and it's free. All the eating places here serve fries, so I collect their used oil. I filter it and that's it! I burn it in little wick lamps I make too. I get my light from my windmill charged battery but I prefer the atmosphere of the lamplight. It's nicer."
"Okay! When do we go? Can I help loading?"
"So you're coming! As for help, don't bother, I can handle loading by myself fine. You can chip in on unloading! We should be leaving tomorrow at ten. How's that?"
"Perfect! Can't wait!"
"I'm really glad. You'll see, the island isn't very big, but it's beautiful. The shore has fish galore. There's even some lobster. The cliffs are quite a sight. Whenever you want to leave the island, I'll take you back here. No problem... if the weather's not too bad."
"Do you have any plans for dinner?"
"Now I do! With you!"
We fixed a time to meet back at the hotel restaurant. I went to my room to freshen up and study the book I bought at the Heritage Centre with a map of the islands south of Barra. Sandray really looked nice.
My heart was beating when he showed up. I was waiting for him down in the lobby. I had reserved a table for two by the big window with view over the bay. We ate like we were starved. It was delicious! We were still elated about our musical experience of the afternoon. We discussed our preferences between improvising or playing written pieces and decided we loved both. We even said we could compose too. As the meal went on, we became a little more personal. I learned that he was twenty-two, virgin like me, had given up Facebook and listening to the news. I wish I had the balls to do it too. I began hating the fact that there was an ocean between the Hebrides and Virginia!
As the waiter was closing the dining room, he urged us to move on. We gathered our things, went outside and decided to have a last pint of 'Dark Island' in the bar.
Once we'd finished, there was a kind of awkward silence for a moment. As we left the table, I looked at Emory, giving him a sheepish smile as we went outside.
"Well...that was nice..."
"Yes, it was... good food..."
"So... I guess that's it... so, see you tomorrow..."
"Have you ever been to France?"
"No. Why?"
"Well, in France, friends give each other a 'bise' as they say, when they meet or leave each other."
"What's that?" I replied, puzzled.
"Let me show you..." He took me by the shoulders, leaned in and kissed me on the cheek.
"How do you say that word in French again?" I asked, beaming from ear to ear.
"It's pronounced 'beeze' and spelled b-i-s-e! You know, smack!"
"That's so cool! I like that! I like it a lot!" I replied, giving him a 'bise' back on the cheek.
He put is hand on my chest, saying, "See you down at the boat at ten. Useless to leave earlier. I want to arrive on the high tide. Easier for unloading."
"I'll be there. Good night, Emory."
"Good night to you too, Elijah."
I was excited, tired, tight and a bit sad to leave Emory's company as I went up the stairs to my room. Once in bed, the day spun around in my head. The music, the meal, the 'bise', the perspective of going with Emory to his island! My God, sleep seemed almost impossible to come. Since I'd never let myself fall for someone, I had no way to name what I felt. So what?... My thoughts were completely obsessed by Emory and... I had to admit it to myself, it felt damn good!
Anyhow, I woke up excited but rested. I showered, went down for a gigantic breakfast, came back up and neatly packed my stuff, rolled up the tiny tent and sleeping bag and strapped them on top of my backpack. I paid the hotel for my room and restaurant tab and hurried down to the marina as Emory, greeted me, beaming. He had just finished loading Oran and the motor was running, smelling like an English street side fish 'n chips.
We gave each other the 'bise' as I stepped aboard. The cockpit was loaded with bulap gunny sacks, crammed full of cut firewood for a small stove. There were four medium-sized jerry cans of frying oil too. In the cabin, there were three big tote bags full of groceries, beer and wine. Emory's sack and guitar were on the berth up front. I put my stuff in with his.
"Did you sleep well?" he asked as he cast off the lines.
"Well, not really. I was too excited about our going to your island together and all. Also the music kept echoing in my head ; it was, in fact, wonderful!"
"Let's hope this fine weather holds out! The forecasts are good, at any rate."
He patted the wheel bench, saying, "Come over and sit here beside me."
As we cruised, shoulder to shoulder, the gentle motion of the boat made us nudge some. I loved it! A weird feeling of fulfillment like I had never felt before rose in my heart. I was also a bit surprised that I stayed half-hard as we rode the waves.
We left the bay behind and rounded the Island of Vatersay in silence.
"Soon, Sandray will be showing up, just a bit off to the right."
"This is luxury, Emory!"
"Luxury, I don't know, but I do know you're great company, Elijah -- I feel like I have a brand-new, old friend."
"That's so nice of you to say that. Thanks a lot..."
As we pitched and rolled some in the swell, my obsessional thoughts about what to do next year, about what to do with my life and all the rest of the induced stress of being twenty-one vanished. The fragrance and the warmth of Emory's presence flowed into me as we braced each other, swaying shoulder to shoulder, cutting our way through the waves. I was seeing new colors ; the air flowing through the open windows was pregnant with new sea scents. Emory's energy made mine vibrate. Such simple things bonded us beyond words. At least that's what I was feeling.
I asked Emory, "How do you feel?"
"Alive!"
That's it! Alive... not dead, not numb, not stressed. I too felt terribly alive and glad to be just me... and only me! Here and now, alive.
On the high tide, we pull up to the rocks at the bottom of the little bay that served as a natural port and wharf for Oran. She would be aground as the tide recedes. That added some spice to the adventure. This would be the first time for me to be 'stranded'. As I looked up at the island, I didn't mind. Green, luscious grass slopes scattered with patches of heather and wild flowers descended by waves to the shore. A small stream cut its channel through the sand into the sea.
"This side of the island is gentle. On the other side, the granite cliffs resist the pounding of the open sea. You should see it when there's a gale from the north-west. Sometimes there's salt foam flying over the island."
"It's really awesome to be here. I'm one lucky guy to have run into you, Emory!"
"Having companionship, especially here, impresses me too. You are my first guest."
I felt flattered and humbled at the same time. It felt warm.
Emory secured the boat. We unloaded and stashed the jerry cans and sacks of firewood. Slipping our backpacks on, I took in hand two of the tote bags and Emory took the third plus his personal items. I followed him up the path leading to the house -- or to be more explicit, up to what used to be a house. Just its stone walls were still standing. No roof, no window frames, no door closing the entry.
"Do you live in... in that?" I asked with a hint of concern in my voice.
"Yes, but don't get worried ; you'll see. It's quite fine inside."
As we approached, I saw through the openings of the ruin, a beautiful bell tent pitched on a raised, wooden deck. I felt much better!
"So this is your home! The remaining walls of the house protect you from the winds and gales and when the sun is out, the open sky above heats you."
"You understand it all! I had no problem getting permission to settle here. The inside of the house belongs to nobody. Also, where this single house was built, you can be sure that the guys knew where to put it, facing the right direction, close by a stream that flows from a spring, giving sweet water all year long. Come on in. Let me show you around."
We dropped our backpacks and put the groceries on the edge of the deck.
"This is a palace, Emory! Is this a cotton tent?"
"As I said, no petrol, so no plastics nor synthetics. I'm not going to shut the polluting industries down, but at least they won't get my money!"
"And your wood stove looks so friendly. I see you cook on it too. Are the cushions, rug and low table along with the several cedar chests I see, your only furniture?"
"That's all I need."
"And the big futon bed looks so comfortable."
"It's not because I've chosen to be a hermit-monk that I deny treating myself well. Simple question of self-respect."
"This is all so cool! You're quite an awesome guy, Emory."
"I do hope you'll enjoy your stay here."
"I'm sure I will -- Tell me, where do you want me to pitch my tent?"
"Pitch? Your? Tent? Listen... I'd be glad to have you in here with me. You can see there's ample space in my bed and also in that chest over there, there's space enough for your few things. You can stash your backpack and camping gear under the deck... But, if you prefer to be by yourself, do what you want. I won't mind."
"I assure you, I'm fine in here with you! Just didn't want to intrude."
"That's better! You don't intrude at all!"
"One little question : the toilets?"
"Anywhere's fine for a pee. If you have to sit, there's a lidded slop jar over by the door you can use. Just empty it wherever you think it's appropriate and rinse it out well, filling it with water for the next time. For washing up, I heat up a bucket of water and sponge bathe by the stove. If it's clear and warm, I do it in the stream and dry in the sun. That keeps me from having tan marks! Ha!"
"That sounds like fun! I'm starting to grasp the philosophy of your lifestyle. I guess it gets really cold in the winter? We're far up north here."
"Listen, the gulf streams keeps the temperature up. It's rare to have freezing weather. However, the days are really short. On the other hand, like now in the summer, they are nice and long!"
"I see..."
That was a lot to grasp for the suburbanite boy I was. However, it was sure that the island was beginning to cast its charm on me.
"Let's go haul up and stock the firewood. After that, I'll fix us a late lunch and then give you a little tour around."
"Let's go."
While Emory heated us some soup and made the sandwiches, I finished stacking the wood under the deck. I felt already like I was connecting to the place. We ate and then left for our visit.
Below us, the gleaming waters of the sea spread as far as I could see, sparkling in the afternoon sun. Several other islands seemed to dance on the surface.
Uphill behind the house, Emory had installed the mast of his domestic wind generator, feeding the battery for his lights, his Mac and iPhone. He also had it wired to the little electric fence around his vegatable patch.
"What's the fence for?"
"The goats. I have a small flock of angora goats for the fleece. I shear, spin and knit the mohair. You'll see them when we get near the cliffs. Here, I mostly grow cabbage, potatoes, carrots and beets."
Once we were by the cliffs, the flock came trotting up. There were two very cute fleecy kid goats that frolicked around me. Emory grabbed one, saying, "Come and touch."
It felt like I was petting a cloud. I was never able to afford cashmere nor mohair clothing so the sensation was new for me! It felt wonderful.
"The females over there give good milk too. I make my cheese and butter with it. However, it's too strong to drink, at least for me."
"You know how to milk a nanny goat?"
"It took me some time get them going, but now we get along well."
"What else do you do for your food?"
"I have a few lobster pots and I fish a lot, either from the boat or from the rocks. I admit I raid gull nests sometimes for eggs too. As for the staples and my pleasure, I shop, as you saw, over in the Co-op on Castlebay."
The more I saw, the better I liked. The spring water surging from the insides of the island was as sweet and pure as could be. Its steady flow didn't gush nor trickle as it fed the stream.
The view from the cliffs was rather scary. They aren't really that high, but the way the waves churn around the rocks below inspired respect.
"Sunsets must be spectacular from here, Emory."
"If you look close, everything here is spectacular in its own way. We'll see the rest of the island later. Let's go back, light a fire and fix us a leisure dinner. How does that sound?"
"Good!"
We lit the fire.
"What can I do to help?"
"Peel the potatoes. We're going to have mashed potatoes, sausage and cheese. I've got some ordinary Portuguese wine which I find really hearty."
I went to work doing my job, Emory his. The result was so simple, tasty and delicious! The ruby-red wine topped everything off quite brilliantly. Then Emory gave me a surprise dessert. He pulled out a bottle of brandy and a canned fruit cake for dessert! We ate to our heart's content. As the twilight dimmed, Emory lit the oil lamps here and there in the tent. The tiny flames quivered, casting a mysterious glow of magic around us.
We played music, sipping wine and generally had a very easy, fun time evening. It was unbelievable, the way we hit it off. By eleven o'clock, night was there.
"The water in the kettle is humming. Time to wash up and turn in, don't you think?"
"I think you're right!"
God! He looked so beautiful, standing nude in the dim, golden light! As I stripped, he looked me over and smiled, giving me a thumbs up. I felt like I was handsome too. We washed and rubbed each other down with our towels. I felt tingly all over. We blew out the lights and met, crawling in bed together, never bothering to put anything on. With all the excitement of the day, the emotions and the walk, the dinner, the music and the bath, I was on the verge of instantly falling asleep. We snuggled up close, shared our 'bise' and with my magnificent erection matching his, I was out!
The following day, we woke up late and indulged in a good, leisurely breakfast.
"Would you like to see my knitting?"
"Please."
He took a wad of angora fleece out of a cedar chest.
"After shearing the kids, I wash and card this, making it fluffy."
He then pulled out a drop-spindle and said, "I hand spin my yarn with this."
I'd seen the device in paintings of the olden times, but never knew how it worked. I was fascinated by how he twirled it, hanging from its cloud of fleece on its own lengthening thread of yarn. It was magic to me!
"Want to try?"
I nodded. He handed me the object. I started by dropping it. Tricky business!
"Well, all you need is practice..." he said, gently taking it back.
He then showed me a hank of yarn and a smock-sweater he was working on. At last, he spread a finished twin set of drawstring pants and a very minimal sweater on the bed. I took them in my hands. They were so soft and warm. Just holding them, I felt consoled, happy and protected.
"Try them on. I'd like to see how they look on you."
"Can I?" I was so excited...
"Strip completely. No underwear. You've got to feel what it's like to be natural and nude in them."
I obeyed and slipped into the pants, then pulled the sweater over my head. My God, it felt great! It was like being naked and yet well clad at the same time. Only one word came to mind to describe how I felt. I felt sexy!
"Elegance is knowing how to clad the beauty of your nudity. Elijah! You are so elegant, a really becoming bloke, and even more so with that on! Mess up your hair some, like a big time fashion model."
"It feels like being caressed and hugged all over with your knits."
"I must admit, you're quite huggable like that..."
"So what are you waiting for?" I exclaimed, lifting my arms, grinning with a sparkle in my eye.
He broke out laughing and simply grabbed me, giving me a good man-hug, and a 'bise' in the neck. I gasped.
"Can I take pictures?" he asked, stepping back, slightly blushing.
"Sure, but don't show the head. That way you can advertise your work as being for everybody, man or woman."
"That's a very good idea."
He found his camera and checked the battery.
"All's in order! Let's go."
"Where do you want me to pose?"
"Anywhere you feel good. I'll fix up a plain background with my little Mac later."
We went outside in the daylight and click, click, click and that was it.
I caressed the clothes on me, saying, "Can I keep these on for a while?"
"They're yours. Do what you want."
Again, I gasped, then yelped, "What?"
"It's my gift to you."
"No way. Let me pay you..."
He interrupted me, saying, "Do you think I need your money? Just seeing them on you makes me see that they were knitted only for you. So it's only normal that you keep them now."
"That's too much! How can I thank you enough, Emory?"
"By learning how to spin and knit yourself!"
"I promise... if you teach me."
He laughed and suggested we work on a few scores together and even start composing a piece. That's how the morning flew by.
After a light lunch, we beach combed some, found some wild salad, then fished. He caught some nice sea trout. I studied how he did it. Didn't look too hard. I tried too. Well, I still needed practice!
The afternoon flew by doing such simple things. We came back and cleaned the fish, fired up some charcoal under the grill outdoors, boiled some potatoes and washed the salad. We bathed in the stream this time and then fixed us our seafood banquet! I felt like a lord beside his bonnie young prince, as we delicately ate with our fingers, like elegant savages.
After the meal, I was even more in paradise than before, surrounded by such beauty. The fire, the dwindling light, Emory's smile, my new garments, licking my fingers after a wonderful meal, everything was pure delight.
Not a breath of wind could be felt and the temperature was strangely warm.
"Feels like a storm's brewing. Before the clouds cover the sky bringing us an early night, let me take you to the top of the island to see the reason why I'm here."
"I'll follow you anywhere you want! Let's go!"
After heading to the center of the island, we climbed a while and cut across the rounded hilltop covered with wildflowers. Suddently, appeared a majectic standing stone. It was in the shape of a perfectly erect penis, reaching out to the darkening clouds.
We were reverent, devout, silent. I slowly approached it. I couldn't resist the urge to hug it, to press myself to it, clinging and melting at the same time.
Emory joined me. We both hugged the stone, holding our hands, encircling it. A surge of shivering warmth rose and overflowed in me. My cock was hard as an axe handle, throbbing against the stone. Then I began burning and weeping at the same time. I squeezed Emory's hands as he squeezed mine. We released them as we backed away and circled to meet side by side. He put his arm around my waist as I hugged his shoulder. We were trembling.
A sudden bolt of blinding lightning struck the stone and startled, we fell.
There we were, desperately clinging to each other. Our souls spinning together in a whirlpool of lust. Without the slightest warning, he grabbed my head and covered my face with kisses galore as his rigid cock stabbed, with gentle insistence my welcoming crotch.
Erotic craving overpowered us. We fell, rolling, body to body, together in the flowers. We tumbled, kissing, groping, squeezing each other's cock. We jerked each other's pants down, freeing our sexes and wound up sucking each other in a kind of convulsive frenzy. Emory's body jerked, mine convulsed, both in a blasting orgasm, spurting, swallowing, moaning, grasping each other, drinking each as in a communion of the flesh.
Our astonished thirst was joyously quenched. We kissed again and again and laying there, gazing at the rumbling clouds, we caught our breath as flashes of heat lightning danced overhead. A very light drizzle began to fall.
"Oh my God, Emory. I'm lost, bewildered, beloved!"
"We have been blessed, Elijah."
We kissed again, humming, happy, joyous in the brand new light of a lightning love.
"Come, Elijah. Let's go back down before we're drenched. I'm now ready to tell you now all I know."
We ran down the hill, laughing. Once inside, we lit the fire, undressed and wrapped ourselves up in covers as we sat, cross-legged facing each other on the bed.
Speaking from his heart, Emory began, "I need to tell you everything! I need to open the gate to my secret garden and invite you in."
"Emory, you don't have to tell me everything. This is love and I love you and that's enough."
"No, Elijah, it's not enough. You know I love you too, of this you have the proof. But pure, sudden love like ours needs trust and trust is based on truth -- all the truth.
You are a very clear person ; your light shines not only in your eyes, but also in your acts, your openness and even in the ardor of your lust. What we've just lived commits us. You deserve to know all my story here, how I found the stone and how it decided me to become the hermit-monk I am today."
He reached out and took my hands in his. I felt again his energy, like our music, merging, flowing as one. It was warm. This was love.
"I'm listening, Emory."
"I know you are. I can feel it."
He released my hands, looked away and then speaking ever so softly he carried on.
"You remember when I told you that I had two friends, like the brothers I never had -- at least that was what I believed. When we were nineteen, we still helped the scout troop we grew up with. That summer, we were on a kayak excursion over here with a group of rowdy teenagers who tired us a lot. The three of us decided to ask if we could have an evening off and camp on Sandray, letting the others, with two pioneers and the scout master go on over to camp on Pabbay. Permission and we made our stopover on the beach for just one night. We pitched our tent, heated some food on our little butane cooker and after eating, I said I wanted to go watch the sunset from the top of the island. The two others said they were tired and told me to go on up by myself."
He marked a pause, looking again off in the distance.
"So, I left them and climbed the same hill we climbed earlier. When I saw the standing stone gleaming in the setting sun, I was awestruck. The stone wasn't mentioned in any guide book I knew of. Sure, all of Scotland is covered with Iron Age monuments, so I guess this one was simply forgotten. Anyway, as I walked up to it, I felt it pulling me like a magnet pulls iron. I did just like you. I hugged it and then it happened. Not a strike of lightning but an eruption exploding inside my guts and balls. I experienced an overwhelming orgasm. I kept clinging on to the stone as I wrenched, spewing over and over my sperm. I clung on for God's sake, just to keep from falling. I didn't get a bolt of lightning, but the jolt was ferocious and wonderful at the same time!"
He smiled with a kind of wild sparkle in his eyes, then turned to me.
"Now don't laugh. I know you're going to think I'm mad when I assure you that what we I experienced then and what we have both experienced now is a message from the heathen god for whom the stone was erected, Aonghas."
"You're not mad, Emory. After what happened, I can wrap my mind around that."
"Before the gigantic Christian perversion, our cocks were recognized as antennas of energy. In India, the phallus of Shive is still worshiped. It's the sacred lingham. The standing stone up there on the hill is the lingham of Aonghas. The orgasms we shared are like bolts of cosmic energy, radiating from and through our cocks. It is also through our cocks we receive this energy from the cosmos. This energy is called LOVE, unconditional, pure, authentic love. Without love, there would no longer be any life on earth. The planets wouldn't keep their orbits. Love is unity, positive interaction keeping things and people together. Deprived of understanding that, our orgasmic energy turns against us. When it is deviated, blocked, frustrated, it creates neurosis, rape, sadomasochism, and our Judeo-Christian civilization is the cause of those perversions, those cancers of the soul. Instead of finding in sex the rapture of love and fulfillment it was made for by nature, the system we live in with its illusions of power and sanctity has made of us zombies of anguish, guilt and madness."
He leaned in closer to me and almost whispered.
"Even when I was just a young teenager, there were girls who openly craved my body. I never felt any arousal for them. I'm sure I was born gay, like my mother. I discovered by myself masturbation at fourteen -- I did, just once, enjoy jacking off with several other scouts. It was like a game. I enjoyed jacking-off alone after that. That was all the sex I knew before the experience of anointing the stone with my semen. The stone told me it was right to not waste and wait. It told me that a person shall be revealed, finding me and we shall experience together the power of the standing stone, a person with whom I could share our intimate offerings... a sacred offering for each other, for others, for the planet. Elijah, by the grace of Aonghas, you found me and we found authentic love."
Sitting back, he went on with an inkling of bitterness in the tone of his voice.
"So getting back to that first night on Sandray, when I returned to the tent, the electric torch inside was casting the shadow of my two mates. They were fucking like dogs. One on all fours, the other humping and covering him, grunting, squealing, slapping his buttocks and I just stood there, my jaw dropped, stunned. Then the one fucking spat out with contempt, "Thank God that stuck-up creep left us alone. He's a real wierdo." Then there was more grunting followed by a kind of stifled whimper, then a scream, "Take it like a man, bitch!" and the one on all fours collapsed under the thrusts of the other who pursued the assault of the other's arse, panting like a demon? I couldn't help myself. I staggered away and vomited, not because of WHAT they were doing. I think tender sodomy could be very meaningful? I vomited because they were depraving their natural sexual drive, their energy, with bestiality, with their sick, distressed behavior. Their consented and inflicted brutality was a blatant sacrilege, a blasphemy to the blasting revelation of love I had just received. Between them, there was absolutely no love at all, just a meaningless game of dominating and being dominated. I knew that such things could happen between guys, that there are more than you can imagine they are having good sex, fucking like that, just for the power or passing thrill it gives them, but for me, it just made me puke. Love is humble, but never humiliates. That which is deprived of love, is depraved."
He marked a pause, leaned over to me again and put his hand on my thigh.
"You see, Elijah, there, within the lapse of perhaps only an hour, I had lived the purest love that could ever be dreamt of. Thanks to Aonghas, I made love with the cosmos while the guys I thought to be my best friends were acting like... like... I don't know what!"
There was a long silence. His beautiful blue eyes were veiled in a kind of deep unspoken, ineffable sadness.
"So, I wiped my mouth, got my wits together and returned to the tent. They had calmed down. I found them wrapped in the same sleeping bag, like we often did. They pretended to be asleep. I let them pretend. I crawled in my own bag and stifled a dull, disgusting urge to weep, to sob out my bitter disillusion. I had found a treasure losing my false companions. After that, I became a loner and they, a couple of flaming, sado-maso, backroom, gay barflies."
"And yet, you came back here. You returned to the stone."
"Yes, two years later I came back, alone of course. I had become very concerned about the climate change, the disaster of migrants drowning, the slow but sure threat of fascism looming over us all. The Brexit appalled me. I felt the election of your president in America like a death blow. All his compulsive lying is either about money or brainless religion. His person pollutes, kindles war and hate. His kind of religion and money kills! He is the incarnation of depravation. So, I decided to drop out, abandon the sinking ship, run away, flee, escape if I can! I wanted to live as far as possible from the Big Lie, be an anti-consumer, a solitary activist, avoiding if possible, the whirlpool of unavoidable nothingness. The stone kept on relentlessly calling me, day and night. It haunted me like a lost lover, pleading for help. I gave up my studies and nearly everything else. And when I returned here, I found the stone still standing, facing the sea, sovereign in its elementary majesty. It still spoke to me. I had studied all I could about the heathen culture that put the stone there. The standing stone of Sandray was barely mentioned in an old article I found, without any other explanation than that of being an indecent, primitive mark of some unknown and probably lewd ritual. Sick! We know it was a glorious proof of the love of Aonghas!"
He became very confidential again, almost indignant as he spoke.
"Do you realize that the destruction of pagan cultures is one of the many crimes of Christianity. It has deprived us of understanding the sacredness of nature. The climate change is making us pay for it. Look at the fires, the tidal waves, the hurricanes. They are getting harder, stronger. The revenge of the gods of nature on the gods of the Book is terrible, beyond understanding. By abiding the biblical fairy tale, we've reduced nature to slavery and now nature is rebelling. We have been brainwashed by the lie that we are sinful by nature. There is no sin in nature. When I hugged the stone the second time, a tidal wave of peace overwhelmed me. Every cell of my being screamed in ecstasy as I clung to it. I anointed it with my most precious fluid, my sperm. As I came back to my senses, leaning against the stone, I felt like I was being spoken to. The stone -- or its spirit or whatever was telling me that I should become its guardian. That's when I understood that I was compelled to live here like a monk of love. That's also when I understood that its cosmic, orgasmic energy had deepened my music, sharpened my awareness and, of course, helped me handle the drives of my natural lust. I understood too that from a simple thread of yarn, the miracle of knitting simple, luxurious things, enhancing the body, more than hiding or disguising it, would be my calling. My music as well as my knitting became meaningful. So here I am, a hermit and a monk... And you found me... and you found us."
"And I found myself!" I added with deep, heart felt emotion.
He looked exhausted. I shifted over to him. We laid down, pulling the covers over us, and cuddled in silence, breathing together for a long, long time.
At last, I uttered, "Thank you Emory."
"Thank you Elijah... Whatever we become, I know that now I'm not alone. I'm fulfilled by the pure, open-handed love we shared in this night of lightning."
"My life has changed and you're the one by whom I happened!" I whispered in his ear.
He turned, looking at me with tears swelling in his eyes, smiling, "If you say so, Elijah. If you say so. You've changed mine too, you know! We're now on the other side of a lot of things. Thank you for opening the way. Good night, dearest you."
We kissed like genuine lovers and fell dead asleep.
The next thing I knew was the glow of the dawning sun illuminating the tent. I opened a groggy eye and remembering where I was, I backed up, snuggling just a little bit closer to my precious bedfellow. He kissed me in the small of my neck, making me shiver and turn around, smiling.
"Good morning, love," he whispered as he slid out of bed, "excuse me a moment, nature's calling..."
Inspired, I rose and went out to join him.
"Meet you back in bed!" he chirped, gently slapping my moon-white ass, making me yelp and giggle.
I gleely dove back under the covers to melt directly in Emory's embrace. The horizontal love dance began again, this time with infinite tenderness, care and delight. We drank again of each other's offerings as the sun crept in pouring its shining warmth directly on our bed.
Emory got up and was lighting the fire as I was just laying there, still wonderstruck by such an awakening. It was slowly dawning on me that our own personal god, Aonghas, was guiding us. He brought us together, bonding us steadfast. We were thus bound to live, loving together. As that bare fact sunk in, Emory came over and sat on the bed beside me, tenderly caressing my cheek.
"You look pensive. What's on your mind, Elijah?"
There was just a hint of worry in his voice.
I looked into his eyes, took a deep breath?
"I was thinking about the coherency of all that's happening here : the stone's presence, only the bare essentials to live with. You. It's more than perfect. I see myself here, heeding with you, Aonghas's calling. It dawned on me that he could call me too, that we could just live together, off the land, fishing, making music, paying our devotions to the spirit of our ancient, standing stone. I was wondering if with just a few concerts and knitting to sell our creations, we could keep out of dire need."
"But of course WE CAN, ELIJAH!"
"So then, I'M STAYING! I have to knit the thread of my life together with yours. It's an order from above, sent by a lightning bolt! Kiss me!"
We hugged, laughing, embracing, kissing, celebrating, wrestling in love. Then we held each other for a long, silent moment, our eyes closed, joyful and serene.
Our bodies confessed our feelings for each other. We blamed and blessed the lightning's light that blasted our hearts, fused our lust, revealed the profound reality of a manifest desire to invent a life together, HERE.
"So you are really sure," he stated.
"Yes, and you?"
"Yes!"
"Is the coffee ready?"
"Yes! Get up. We've got a lot of planning to do!"
During the days that followed, Virginia seemed very far away! My new life in love, guided by a heathen god gave me new strength and insights I'd never suspected possible for me. Our love making, just like our music together, was always in close communion to the challenging nature of Sandray, to our human nature, to our masculine nature of flowing forth for each other.
When people use the term 'make love' they often refer only to having sex together, closed in together, just for each other. I was discovering that 'making' love also means that we are producing love, like the wind produces electricity in an eolian generator. When Emory and I make love, we are vaguely aware of the fact that what we are doing is exactly making more love happen in the world. We are generating love. Authentic love disables the desire for power and thwarts energies that kill... Loving heals life.
I wrote to my parents telling them with whom I was coming back and why we were staying for only ten days. I told them that we loved each other, that we were in love and that a whole new life was ours to create together on Sandray Island. They answered, simply saying, "We are waiting for you, son."
We closed down everything, secured the chests and talked to the goats telling them that we'd be back in two weeks. I swear, they seemed to understand! We tied up the boat in Castlebay Marina asked the guys on Vatersay to go over and check on the goats sometimes because we were going to the mainland for family matters. They said they'd keep an eye on the island for us. We took the ferry and then the train to Edinburgh.
Emory's mothers immediately fell in love with me and I with them! They are definitely the most elegant, classy, simple-mannered, delightful women I've ever met. They promised to make us famous with our angora knitwear.
Emory's former room was still just like he had left it. I loved making love with him there. It was so full of youthful dreams, desires and scents of boyhood. The night before taking the plane to Washington, I needed to experience Emory's presence moving in me, giving himself deep inside me as we kissed. I told him so.
"I need you in me too, Elijah. I feel we are now ready."
"We are now ready, Emory."
He went into the bathroom, returned with some lotion. We undressed, slowly, lovingly and I sprawled on the bed. He slathered me and himself and covered me tenderly.
Aonghas guided us, with infinite delicateness, in discovering the ultimate act of the flesh. Instinct brought each of us to come in each other and completely surrender ourselves in love's luminous explosion. There was no hurry. Our fluids were abundant and we felt very little pain, and soon, none at all as we were swept, first me, then he, into the same wave that enthralled us in the shadow of the stone. We made lots and lots of love and when dawn finally caught us sleeping like two doves in the same nest, Emory's mother, banging on the door, shouted out, "Get up you two lazy-heads! You've got a plane to catch!"
"We're on our way Mummy!" Emory shouted.
"Who's in the shower first?"
"Both of us, silly!"
The flights were perfect. We changed in Dublin and slept half the time across the Atlantic. We landed on time in Dulles International at 4:00 PM, went through police and customs, claimed our bags and met up with Dad who came to pick us up. He's so cool. Like Emory's mother, he still thinks I'm fourteen, giving me hugs and joking all the time. He was very warm, respectful and relaxed with Emory.
The only time he was almost serious was when we stopped on the way to Charlottesville. While Emory was off to the toilet, he told me, "Since you finally swung to your gay side, I'm really glad you fell for a very nice guy. Be good to him. He's perhaps the most handsome guy on earth -- other than you, of course! Your sister is going to be sick, knowing he's not available."
"It's a pity, Dad. Tough for her and thanks! You're right about him being almost as handsome as me and you're going to see he's not only handsome. He's a very good person. Plain, old goodness is something terribly rare in folks nowadays!"
"You are so right, son!" he replied, patting me on the back. God, I love that man!
This time, I put Emory up front with Dad so they could get to know each other and so that I could snooze some in the back seat. I wanted to savor my happiness and get myself together, all by myself, before returning to my now former home.
Mom greeted us with hugs and kisses and Sister with giggles. She sent us up to shower, shave and change before coming down to dinner. Southern manners of good grooming oblige!
"Show Emory to your room. The bed is made for you two and the towels are in your bath! Now hurry up! We've got a lot of talking to do, boys."
Of course, we obeyed and came down looking like new. I handed out my gifts : plaid bonnets for Mom and Sister and a plaid tie for Dad. They smiled. I knew they would never wear them, but the intention was there!
They immediately began asking questions about the island, our plans, etc.
"Did you bring pictures?"
"Yes, we did, Mom, but please let's eat now. We have ten more days to visit and fill you in on everything, if you don't mind."
"Well, of course. All I have to say is that it's a real pleasure to have two sons instead of just one now!" she declared we retired to the dining room.
"And I'm so proud of my gay brother!" added my sister, "BUT I'm ABSOLUTELY dead jealous of his outrageously GORGEOUS boyfriend!"
Dad and I exchanged a knowing smile. Emory blushed.
The dinner was wonderful as all mothers' cooking can be for their boys, but emotions, jet lag and the wine hit us bad and by 10:00 PM, local time, we asked permission to drag ourselves up to bed. After all it was four in the morning for us.
I was glad to be back, no longer having to decided what I was going to do with my life. We drove around a lot. I enjoyed showing Emory the beauties of the surroundings : Skyline drive, Monticello, the university. Mother lined up a little concert for us to play at the Colonnade Club on campus with their faculty friends. We made a smashing success. We didn't do any shopping. However, we did price the mohair sweaters and cashmeres in the finer shops. There was one turtleneck, machine knitted sweater selling for $1200! We were both very impressed! It was a good, son-says-good-bye-to-home time. Sure, I cried some. Growing up can do that to you, but deep inside, I knew I was on the right path for me and for us.
We decided to not bother Dad and take the Greyhound to leave a day earlier, before flying back. Emory wanted to see Washington. As I packed, I kept in mind the size of my chest back on the island. I dreaded the moment of having to choose but in the end, it wasn't that hard to leave with just the bare essentials. My heart was so full. Almost all I needed seemed to be already on Sandray.
Washington was fun in spite of the sticky mid-summer heat. For evident reasons, we didn't go by the White House. Our flights were fine. Emory's mothers greeted us with upon arms and laughed when we gave them our present : a framed picture of us napping, all snuggled up together, under a tree. My sister took it after a picnic in the hills.
"I don't know where we'll hang it, but thanks anyway, boys!"
That reminded me : we must plant some birch saplings on Sandray in the vegetable patch and keep the goats away. Before grazing hit the island, it was wooded!
Mummy told us that we had an appointment with a gay friend of theirs who ran a very exclusively casual men's shop and that after showing them the picture of our twin set, they said they were interested.
"So you take the one you have with you to show them. Let Elijah wear it. Don't settle for less than £650. Those guys can sell it for at least £800 a set, on command, custom tailored for a choice number of their clientele. Believe us, they can keep you boys very busy and in good money! Now go and get it!"
"Yes, Mummy."
Once back home, I learned how to really card, spin and knit. Emory also went to work, lining up concerts in Glasgow and Edinburgh. We played in the Castlebay Bar and made good friends there. They expect us to come back soon.
During the day, we lived with the rhythm of our island, tending our little plot of vegetables and saplings, fishing, lobstering, mending and fixing what was needed. Our flock prospered. We shorn, washed and carded a good stock of fleece. Over the winter, we must make a dozen twin-sets of pants with matching sweater-smocks. The orders with our male clients' measures came in from the Men's Shop very quickly. Emory's mothers were excellent in handling sales already for two very select young women too.
Our acts of flesh, even in the midst of the long November nights and angry gales, were sacred rituals, bringing us insight, peace and strength. As our birchs grew, so did our love. Our music became sublime. We might even record next year.
We often honor and anoint our standing stone. Aonghas, Emory and I are sure that our love radiates far beyond our little island.
How far beyond?
Stupid question!
A photo album (pdf) concerning this story is available upon request marin.giustinian@laposte.net.