Sirinx

Bia, sweet as honey, little girl, asked for a book, just a tiny whirl, tiny paws, fluffy and round, little claws that make no sound, whiskers thin as threads of thread, coats so soft upon her bed, eyes like beads, so round and bright, tails that dance with pure delight. So I said, "don't think twice, just make with Bia pocket book with pussycats, nice!"

Cronicile din Ether Drive 6

Ziua Mamei Dimineață de duminică în Casa Vânturilor. Eol de pe șemineu scăpă, ca din greșeală, o afină pe mustățile lui Mistral care moțăia ghemuit pe covor. —Pss ! —Cred că îți e cald cu dinții în gură ,rozător obraznic ce ești! bombăni Mistral fără măcar a deschide ochii . —E ziua mamelor ! Trebuie să facem ceva ! —Ți se pare că eu sunt mama ta, micuțule? Calmează-te, eu tocmai mă visam ....nu contează cum, deranjează pe altcineva! Sirocco aflat tot pe covor in mijlocul sufrageriei își plimba privirile de la unul la altul cum ar privi o partidă de tenis. —Ziua mamelor ! adică și doamna mama, ă, doamna Aura Gale are ...sau n-are ? Spune tu Eol , ce are doamna Gale ? — Este ziua mamelor și aiuritul nostru habar nu are ! După ce a îndepărtat-o atât de nepoliticos ultima dată...zic și eu, n-ar strica o recon...asta, împăcare. Nu credeți? Anemo e to...

The Chronicles of Ether Drive 1

Chapter 1: The Mystery of the Silver Spoon If you listen closely, beyond the sleepy hum of the highway flowing like an unseen river at the edge of the neighborhood, you will hear the silence of Littlepace. It is a gentle silence, smelling of mown grass and afternoon rain. But if you turn past the earth-colored houses and walk parallel to Hunters Run, you’ll reach a street where shadows seem to have a life of their own. Welcome to Ether Drive. At number 3, in a sturdy brown-brick house, lives a man who resides more within his books than in his own living room. His name is Anemo Gale. Anemo is a crime novelist, but he is so absent-minded that he sometimes searches for his glasses while they are perched right on his nose. "Where has the plot vanished to?" he often sighs, staring blankly into the refrigerator—which he has, of course, left wide open. What Anemo doesn’t know is that the "plot" of his stories isn’t lost. It wanders right under his nose, on four velvet paws...

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