And it may be the cutest thing I've ever seen. It spins. It mills. It makes a deep whushing sound that I suspect I could grow very much used to. It even, god bless it, has dirt on its none-too-recently whitewashed inner walls. Yet I am cursing Ms. Wind's name for building it, because it breaks my heart to have to take it down!
The sad truth is that my IC self, that tenuous and questionable entity, is not the type to live in a windmill, even the most precious one that ever existed, unless perhaps she's hiding out from being pursued by assassins or pirates or something, and I'm afraid that I'm not aware of anyone being after her. So I will probably be going ahead with the half-ruined mountaintop castle a la Burg Schadeck. Eyre, after all. One must uphold a certain quasigothic standard. Imagine- if you can- Rochester brooding in the shadow of an aesthetically appealing and eminently practical windmill.
No, it simply can't be done.
5 comments:
Two words: "Turkey Sausage."
/me explains the above comment:
That would be a fine use for the mill, would feed Caledon for weeks :)
Diabolical and delicious. I'm all for it! Now if only we can figure out a way to kill the noisome things... and as yet, they seem utterly invincible.
There's no problem that can't, ultimately, be solved with the proper application of high explosives.
Although I truly believe it should be tested in preparation for the inevitable day when they turn on us, I fear that explosives in great enough quantity to conquer these birds- you saw what they're capable of enduring!- would render all question of sausage moot, unless your idea of sausage is something that Upton Sinclair would have delighted in describing, were he around yet...
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