<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/"><channel><title>Rowantree on Gromet's Plaza Archive</title><link>/authors/rowantree/</link><description>Recent content in Rowantree on Gromet's Plaza Archive</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Tue, 14 Feb 2006 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="/authors/rowantree/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Beach Combing</title><link>/stories/2006/02/14/beach-combing/</link><pubDate>Tue, 14 Feb 2006 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>/stories/2006/02/14/beach-combing/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;Beach Combing by
Rowantree F/m; bond; latex; nc; X&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Sunlight, of that particularly colour
leaching quality, streamed through the large picture windows that formed one
long wall of a studio of some description. The room was large, sparsely
furnished and decorated in those minimalist colours so favoured by interior
designers that take their inspiration from the seaside. Some of the windows
were open, allowing the penetrating fingers of a fresh sea breeze to circulate
the room, cool enough to raise goose bumps on naked skin and contrasting with
the bright sunlight of this warm spring morning. The open windows also allowed
the sound of the sea to be heard: birds, surf and the sound of the breeze
sighing through long grasses on the top of the dunes, all hinting at a wild
freedom currently denied to the young man who now lay patiently, if anxiously
on a table.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>