From a collection of 100-word stories & wonders

A cloud-capped peak in East Africa seems a likely retreat for a reclusive soul. Photo by flöschen, via flickr.

My house clung precariously to the mountainside, surrounded by cedar-scented clouds. One day a stranger appeared, humping a swollen peddler’s sack up the narrow path leading to my door. I greeted the sinewy old man with a bow. “What brings you to my mountain?” “The finest raiment,” he said, standing like a heron. “Guaranteed to last a lifetime.” “I didn’t order new raiment.” “Yet I braved tooth and thorn.” I sighed. His eyes flashed. “Who are you to refuse the Weaver?” “Why?” I asked. He shrugged. “It is His way.” … I was born beside the road somewhere in Macedonia.