The current of Fairyland circles the Lonely Gaol. It sluices in through holes in the base of the great towers and emerges on the other side, to begin once more its long journey around the horn of Fairyland. This unstoppable circulation kicks up storms the way you kick up dust when you run very fast down a dirt road. It cannot be helped. Somewhere deep down there in the roots of the Lonely Gaol lives a hoary old beast, something like a dragon, something like a fish, something like a mountain rill. She is older than the Gaol and the sluicing of the water—older, perhaps, than Fairyland. When she breathes in, she sucks up crystal from the stones of the earth. When she breathes out, she blows bubbles in the crystal, so that it swells up in great lumps and heaps. The sea splashes and cools the glass, and it grows and grows. Perhaps she is sleeping. Perhaps she is too big and too old to do much but breathe. But this is how the Lonely Gaol, which was not always a Gaol at all, was made in the first place. If you squint just so, you can see the red flares of her breath between the roaring waves.
We're actually getting near the end--I expect it'll wrap up around Thanksgiving. Anyone up for a wrap party on the island or Boston?