it's a little muddy

In color, anyway.  Not so much outside, in spite of some recent sprinkling.  We could consider this beer a prize, since it was a reward from the beer store for making a number of purchases of more than €5.  You know, for the blog!  To inform!

You're welcome!

Yria is relatively local, being located in Toledo.  Their beers have been offered at the store since the beginning, I think.  For some reason, other bottles have always grabbed my attention, though.

The beer has a nice dark brown color and the head remains lightly on the top of it.  There's a light but promising scent, although some sourness in the flavor at first.  Once settled it becomes becomes sweeter, as happens quite often in my experiences with brown ales.  It's a fairly smooth drink, not as bubbly as the recent pales, something one might have to be careful of when quantities are available.  It's one of those that might be too easy to drink.

Being tasty is such a sinister plot 

plotting tree

The old tree bent and swayed in the wind, its branches creaking and moaning.  The moon was bright and full, and the air was brisk.  The conspirators met in the tree's shadow.

"I think they're on to us," one whispered hoarsely, "I keep seeing greencoats in the streets.  Everywhere I go, I see one, only one, looking as casual as possible."

"We might be under surveillance, but for our past arrests.  None of the material has been found and nobody has been questioned, even informally."

"But that could mean they're gathering evidence and just waiting for us to make a mistake.  If we continue with The Plan, we could fall right into their hands."

"We've gone too far to back out now.  Our allies are counting on us.  We have obligations!"

"Obligations?  Wasn't our fight about freedom?  How can I be freely obligated to our so-called allies?  They might send money, but they seem to have plenty to spare, so they are taking no real risk."

"We do need their money, and their presence here or shipments of the goods we require for the strike would indeed be a great risk to them.  And, by extension, to us."

"I still have my doubts about K.  He might show the face of a concerned supporter of liberty, but he has enough power to take over once this government's out of the way."

"But why would he?  Even if he has a mercenary-pretend adventurer side to him, this country's too poor to be of much interest in any financial sense."

Which is why I find his support suspicious.  Couldn't he have plans or information we are not aware of?"

"As much as I value your caution, I think we are all aware of the need to take risks for the cause as part of The Movement.  No risk, no reward, as they say."

"Who says that?  I don't think I quite agree.  We have already established that our allies are taking no such risks!"

The two conspirators argued for some time with the icy wind of the full-moon night rustling their collars and threatening to send an old, dead branch crashing down on their heads.  Finally a stray dog's howl shut them up and they both listened intently for more barks or the crash of booted feet through the underbrush.  Minutes passed and there was nothing.  They turned towards each other once again, but the tension had grown and both were nervous.

"We should end our meeting," said the first, "It grows late and the more time we spend in each other's company the greater the chances somebody will notice."

"Dear gods, who would be out wandering the woods at this hour?  Nobody who would care, or if they did, they would already know of our association.  But you are correct that it seems the moment to part; your paranoia grows tiresome, Lady Tardan."

"My paranoia, as you call it, has saved my skin more than once," muttered the first as they turned to go their separate ways, "Someday you'll wish you had my sense of danger, Affery."

The conspirators melted into the darkness of the night, leaving the tree alone with all its secrets.  The half-moon posed in its uppermost branches forming just enough background for a crow to make a sinister silhouette, looking down menacingly on any curious traveler who might venture a glance to the heavens.

blood of a goddess

Previously, I tried a trio of beers named for gods.  Now I have one that claims to be the blood of one:

Ceres, goddess of grains.  One might expect greatness.  As soon as the cap is popped, it releases a sweet, beery scent.  The beer is bubbly and foamy when poured, but the head does die back quickly, leaving a lovely gold-colored beverage.  I would describe the taste as sweet-and-sour, which might be a little much on its own in most cases, but after some time on the table it gets more citrusy.  Some salted crackers, or maybe something sweet, would go well with it.

Somebody might have too little blood in their alcohol stream

paranoia

The birds came back to sing
And brought all their throaty joy
And applause of fluttering wings
For my battered spirits low

I sit melancholy by the glass
And gaze out at the honeyed light
While tiny squirrels frolic on the grass
And rabbits in nervous contemplation sit

How I long for days when I would partake
Of freedom, roaming under the sky
How I despise now that one mistake
That follows, cleaves to, and suffocates me

If I had only made a better choice
If I had only known what would ensue
If I had only heard that little voice
That tells when we had best run

Now I hide in shadow and dare nor leave
For fear the monster will be at my back
No visitors more will I receive
Should he be in disguise to test his luck

A shaggy teddy bear at first he seemed
But soon to poisoned spines his hide did turn
Ever since from the darkness his eyes gleam
Like a cat's when hunting mice for fun

Caught in the web
I dare not move
The trolling spider
Will catch me dead