Cry Havoc

. . . the wood's in trouble;

The gale, it plies the saplings double.

'Twould blow like this through holt and hanger,

'Tis the old wind in its anger.

And then it threshed another wood

Where Uricon the city once stood.

The wind flew through the woods in riot . . .

The trees of home now lie quiet. *


It was a summer's evening gloomy, close and stale when destiny's dice box dumped havoc on the heart of old Georgetown. With irresistible conviction the wind clasped it keenly with crooked hands.

5:50 PM Friday July 19, 2013

* with arboreal assistance from 

Wenlock Edge by A.E. Housman