“Mellow stoned buildings’ lofty chimneys rise
O’er steep raked roofs hooding mullion stares,
Down tumbling ginnels filled o’ pedlar-cast cries
Unto cobbled courts and sett-laid squares.
From postern and lych and wicket gate,
‘Cross park and field and meadow straight,
To tavern and forge and creaking mill,
In Bazarral, in Bazarral, its fair folk spill.
Proud jutting jetty’s arching storeys mass
O’er tight pressed alleys carting woven wares,
‘Pon rumbling wagons aft shaft-held ass
Unto havened ports and far-off fairs.
In banquet and love and drinking song,
With yearn and ache and heartfelt long
To praise and troll and laud it all,
Oh Bazarral, oh Bazarral, its fair folk call.”
On the window sill was a narrow vase in which stood a single red rose. Its ruby expanses were furled to a terrain of inescapable crags and crannies, its wilting edges yielding their essence to the dusky air so recently warmed by the now reddening sun. As its imponderable weight slowly sank behind hills blackened to card silhouettes in the west, and one by one stars winked from the raven’s outspread wings, Francis found himself so very much at peace.
About the Author
Clive Johnson was born in the mid-1950’s in Bradford, in what was then the West Riding of the English county of Yorkshire. Mid-way through the 1970s, he found himself lured away by the bright lights of Manchester to attend Salford University.
In addition to getting a degree in electronics, he also had the good fortune of meeting Maureen (Kit) Medley - subsequently his partner and recent Editor. Manchester retained its lure and has thereafter been his hometown.
Torn between the arts (a natural and easy artist) and the sciences (struggled with maths), youthful rationality favoured science as a living, leaving art as a pastime pleasure. Consequently, after graduation, twenty years were spent implementing technologies for mainframe computer design and manufacture, and being a Group IT Manager for an international print company.
The catalyst of a corporate takeover led to a change of career, and the opportunity to return to the arts. The unearthing of a late seventies manuscript - during loft improvements - resurrected an interest in storytelling, and one thing led to another. A naïve and inexpert seed finally received benefit of mature loam, and from it his first novel - Leiyatel’s Embrace - soon blossomed.
Find my website at http://www.flyingferrets.com
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Leiyatel's Embrace (Dica Series Book 1) Page 44