Thomas Kinkade Hometown Pride

Thomas Kinkade Hometown PrideThomas Kinkade HOMETOWN EVENINGThomas Kinkade HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS
growing and dripping for thousands of years.
"How?" said sound was the occasional plink of the water.
It dripped into a- shallow pool in front of what looked like an altar. From the pool it had worn a groove in the slabs of the floor all the way to a round pit, which appeared to be bottomless. There were a few statues, all of them toppled; they were heavy-proportioned, lacking any kind of detail, each one a child's clay model chiseled in granite. The distant walls had once been covered with some kind of bas-relief, but it had crumbled away except Om."Water seeps down after the rains," said Brutha. "It lodges in the rocks. Don't gods know these things?""We don't need to." Om looked around. "Let's go. I hate this place.""It's just an old temple. There's nothing here.""That's what I mean."Sand and rubble half-filled it. Light lanced in through the broken roof high above, on to the slope that they had climbed down. Brutha wondered how many of the wind­carved rocks in the desert had once been buildings. This one must have been huge, perhaps a mighty tower. And then the desert had come.There were no whispering voices here. Even the small gods kept away from abandoned temples, fo the same reason that people kept away from graveyards. The only