Born in the middle of a morning on a snowy wagon, snakes in the ruts, horse lost a shoe a way's back, the bluish hue of blackthorn hedges line the path. A wild naked man howling with his broken stick, his King bear him no gifts, one star shining in daylight brighter than the rest. The hungry prayed, parlayed into open arms and all became silent like Saints, a half-eaten man hung from a tree, a playful breeze making his purple face almost happy. Building sites and the trodden ground was half-frozen, the locals spoke a language that wasn't for me, white frost on a black canopy, you can't stay here the constable said, the ground rots beneath the feet, nervous eyes on me, the horses bristled, the coachman began the elaborate orchestra, silver for thee.. and we left.