Sola osofisan biography template

It was not a Storyteller’s moon. It was not the rotund moon that presaged the old man’s previous visits to Ifeloju. Horned, it only lightly kissed the leaves farthest from the dusty ground upon which Itanpadeola’s sandaled feet trod, and it did not wash the now-you-see-it-now-you’re-not-so-sure track to Ifeloju in an endless glow that promised laughter and songs and sweet wine and dance.

No, it did not speak breezily of life and love and fertility and rebirth and all other things with which the full moon was associated.

Sola osofisan biography template pdf

It clung desperately to the coming night; seemingly fearful it would lose its grip and plummet like a fallen god…

That was the early moon hugging the sky the night the Storyteller appeared. A tall weathered man with a long face, he was thin like the staff in his right hand and feeble like the flame of the wick lamp in his left.

His arms had a multitude of minute cuts clustered on them as if a swarm of flies wielding miniature knive