incandescens | through the spider-shadows and the marsh of Tode

Half our table at work (four desks together, that is) is coughing, or complaining of coughs, or fragility, or general malaise. Except when we're actually focused on work, at which point we get our heads down and inhale coffee. Or possibly tea.

New timesheet/recording system is being trialled at work, and will probably go live soon. I am unenthusiastic about it, but to be fair, it is better than one of the previous ones we had. (Then again, anything would be better than that one.) So I will try not to be too prejudiced against it from the start.

Which is a better offer than the current Government is going to get from me. Roll on the next election.

---

The Mewlips

The shadows where the Mewlips dwell
Are dark and wet as ink,
And slow and softly rings their bell,
As in the slime you sink.

You sink into the slime, who dare
To knock upon their door,
While down the grinning gargoyles stare
And noisome waters pour.

Beside the rotting river-strand
The drooping willows weep,
And gloomily the gorcrows stand
Croaking in their sleep.

Over the Merlock Mountains a long and weary way,
In a mouldy valley where the trees are grey,
By a dark pool's borders without wind or tide,
Moonless and sunless, the Mewlips hide.

The cellars where the Mewlips sit
Are deep and dank and cold
With single sickly candle lit;
And there they count their gold.

Their walls are wet, their ceilings drip;
Their feet upon the floor
Go softly with a squish-flap-flip,
As they sidle to the door.

They peep out slyly; through a crack
Their feeling fingers creep,
And when they've finished, in a sack
Your bones they take to keep.

Beyond the Merlock Mountains, a long and lonely road,
Through the spider-shadows and the marsh of Tode,
And through the wood of hanging trees and the gallows-weed,
You go to find the Mewlips - and the Mewlips feed.

-- JRR Tolkien