Out of the Kneeling Glen the fog comes not creeping but coiling, a slow white leviathan of vapour that swallows the black pines one by one and leaves only their ragged crowns shive…
A pallid sun, throttled by a veil of cloud at sixty-one parts in a hundred, cast its weakened rays upon the eastern slopes at the seventeenth hour, whilst the mercury in my baromet…
The mercury in my barometer has begun its slow, deliberate descent—29.79 inches and falling—as if the very atmosphere exhales a weary sigh. Above, the sky is a heavy pall of storm …
A profound and crystalline stillness enshrouds the high crags, as if the very atmosphere holds its breath in anticipation. The sky, a vast obsidian vault, is strewn with stars that…
The full moon, a wan and spectral lantern, rides high above the Carpathian canopy, its pale illumination filtering through a thin veil of cloud that drifts like gossamer from the v…
A peculiar stillness, heavy as grave-earth, smothers the gorge this afternoon; the pine resin hangs sharp and unbroken in the damp air, and the distant crags stand mute beneath a s…
A pallid, wounded sun struggles through a veil of light mountain mist, casting its anaemic rays upon the crags as the mercury in my barometer holds its breath at 29.90 inches, stea…
A full moon rides high above the Carpathian crest, its pale spectral wash silvering the light mountain mist that coils through the valleys like the breath of sleeping phantoms. The…
The full moon, a pale and spectral lantern, hangs fixed above the Carpathian spires, its light filtering through a veil of light mountain mist that clings to the valleys like the b…