THEN a young traveler said,
Speak to us of Home, Master.
And he answered:
There is nothing so tender as a man’s Home.
Though I have not returned to the place of my childhood and the treasured memories of the past, I can envision them perfectly in my mind’s eye.
Yes, I know what Home is.
For there in the far-off valley of Bhagrir, by the ancient city of Ahdrihl, near the embankment of Eurice, under the Corpit cliffs that proudly encroach upon the sea.
In a small humble house across the town square, next to a towering Cypress, that is where I was born.
Is it the Cypress with the crooked limb, Master, that points toward the setting sun in autumn? the traveler asked.
Yes! Yes! cried the Master.
With the crumbling stone wall leading down to the bay? the traveler persisted.
Exactly! the Master shouted.
Howard Johnson’s! the traveler cried.
Kehlog Albran – The Profit