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So much breathing space as strong winds pierce miles of untamed vacant high ground, relentlessly absorbing each battering constructed by nature. Now...

Well, I did. Picture Author's own. Of the day when I thought it really was over. L to R : Me, Anatolij Kvotchur Russian Test Pilot, American pilot of B2 Stealth bomber at an Airshow in 1993. I was Kvotchur's interpreter.

A small poem about how tiring resistance can be.

Partly due to the situation in the real World and partly because I'm thinking about a story fast forwarding a few generations, I'm winding this up earlier than I intended. I hope these final parts will clarify things. Good luck everybody. Image: Future by ideal-ist.eu

I think the moon would be too close. He might just find a way back from there, or build up his reserves and forces again for another invasion of...

Non passerine or no passeran? Speed write. Edited

It stopped raining. Slowly. So slowly that it was hard to say at what point the last drop fell. It was hours. It was until nearly dawn. And all that...

PLEASE LET THIS BE TRUE ONE DAY!!! (Originally posted April 2017 --- slightly modified)