A doomstead (doomsteda in the old tongue) is a self-sufficient refuge.

A hallowed place. Cryptic. Lost in a Realtree camo wildscape.

A rocker on the porch.

3rd generation towheads grubbing around in the pumpkin patch.

Perpetual evening sun.

The doomstead is your Cold Mountain analogue, the focus of your long walk home.

Steel-shuttered windows.

The Transalp, fuelled and waiting in the barn.

If only you could reach it.

The floor is slick with Nato brass. It’s the site of your last stand.

Already passing into fable.

I feel emotional.

My descent into paranoia makes Deliverance look like a Saga holiday.


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