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Story53
I came late to the village, past the age for great works, and took the house beside the ruined watermill. First I mended its wheel and let the water run again. …
I am the Windmill atop the hill, my sails turning with every breeze that blows from distant lands. …
I am the Watermill hidden in the valley, fed by the acequia that brings snowmelt from the mountains. While the Windmill turns for show, I do the real grinding. …
I am the Theatre, the Corral where the play unfolds. The stage is set, the musicians tune, the audience takes their seats. …