Themes: Johnny
Slate skies over damp earth. Stone streets. Sincere suspicion and frank answers. The promise/reassurance of anytime barfights. Temper-tantrums and high thresholds for pain, ultimately fearlessness. Hesitation on thresholds heading out. Ducked heads, private smirks. Crap had and given.
Life lessons relearned by kicks to the crotch, not diagrams. Jaded shrugging after child-like disbelief.
Picket lines for whatever.
The house built for recreational Vikings, with dogs sprawled on feet. Kids sprawled on hearths. Salamulyon fueling fireplaces. Things to trip over like upturned edges of heavy rugs, kid-limbs, dog-tails and slow-moving geese, sometimes mud-caked. Tromping. Loud voices swearing. Barking. No words had in edgewise but everyone trying.
Hardwood, velveteen, twenty degree temperature shifts between rooms. Doors traditionally ajar. An extreme lack of strangers. Relatives, even eight times removed, raucous at play. Veterans. Soothsayers. Legacy, honor, pride definitely, up emanating from the crest hanging under high ceilings. Absolute liars though.
Haunted rooms, fogs, and creepy-ass paintings with trailing stares. Mounted elk with shocked glass gazes.
The extreme need to go ignored, flee to the treed-in castle with quiet corridors. Suits of armor, despite vampires, unhaunted. Here, words had in edgewise and only two tromping feet, and only one loud voice raucous at play.