je suis le cerf; et vous, le chasseur

[riskbreaker]

Bonifacio, Corse-du-Sud, France



The town, built on an outjutting part of the mountain, in places even overhanging the sea, looks across the straits, full of sandbanks, towards the southernmost coast of Sardinia. Beneath it, on the other side and almost surrounding it, is a cleft in the cliff like an immense corridor which serves as a harbor, and along it the little Italian and Sardinian fishing boats come by a circuitous route between precipitous cliffs as far as the first houses, and every two weeks the old, wheezy steamer which makes the trip to Ajaccio.

On the white mountain the houses, massed together, makes an even whiter spot. They look like the nests of wild birds, clinging to this peak, overlooking this terrible passage, where vessels rarely venture. The wind, which blows uninterruptedly, has swept bare the forbidding coast; it drives through the narrow straits and lays waste both sides. The pale streaks of foam, clinging to the black rocks, whose countless peaks rise up out of the water, look like bits of rag floating and drifting on the surface of the sea.

--"A Vendetta", Guy de Maupassant

(begins here)

Comments

[civilservice]

And while you're planning, what part of you-you meaning your network and your buildings-is the weakest? Don't answer yet, just imagine how you'd need to move to cover that, and then think about what you're not thinking about.

Sometimes they never expect you to be obvious.