Fantasy got sick during the past few months, but she left me with an egg. I am walking into the forest which has wintered over. It only began to warm, when my imagination started coming to life again. I have enough going on that I should be able to nourish this new life with my art, articles and stories. I think posting my art and my stories should be enough to help her / him grow. I have decided that if this life form dies, I will close down this blog. I rest the little egg with blue, green and gold coloring in Fantasy's old home. I know that the tree will keep it warm through its magic and that Fantasy had put all of the magic she could into it. I must figure out a name. He / she will have Fantasy's name as their last name, but what to give as the first?
I am looking around, and the ground everywhere is still white; the tree has now begun to bloom.
Showing posts with label winter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label winter. Show all posts
Friday, June 14, 2013
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Gone a Long Time
I have been gone a long time from the glade, and I know it. I trudge forward into the winter glade with a heavy heart. I had always hoped that Fantasy and I would be weathering the ups and downs of the writing life, but much has happened since I was last there.
I was shocked at what I found. The glade was supposed to be a place of green all year round with off-shoots of seasons, which would shift from place to place and grow larger throughout the years as stories came and went. But I haven't been a good steward. Was Fantasy beneath this rubble? I glanced around me; she was nowhere to be found.
I brushed off a log and waited. I figured that if I hadn't been there for almost a year to feed her stories, that she would at the very least be weak. I waited for 10 minutes, then a half an hour. Then I felt a fly buzzing around my head. A fly? That doesn't make sense. Flies don't live in winter unless they're fruit flies. I shooed it away, but it zoomed back just as quickly. Then it started tickling me on the nose.
"Get away!" I waved it away. It danced away, and then tickled my neck. Then it landed on the paper I brought with the story. It had a faint blue tinge.
It's blue! I watched as it hovered over the top of the page. Fantasy knew I had a visual impairment. She would make herself seen, if that's who it was. I had brought a small set of acrylics as well as some paper in case I wanted to continue sketching her. I opened the tube of blue paint and put some on the palette. I then changed to a new piece of paper. She wrote her name just as it shows below; I knew it was her. She had been reduced to a spec - I had arrived just in time. I had a mystery from Kent for her to gnaw on until the next time. Hopefully it would be enough. I reached out my hand, set aside the painted pages and read the next story called "A Mystery."
I was shocked at what I found. The glade was supposed to be a place of green all year round with off-shoots of seasons, which would shift from place to place and grow larger throughout the years as stories came and went. But I haven't been a good steward. Was Fantasy beneath this rubble? I glanced around me; she was nowhere to be found.
I brushed off a log and waited. I figured that if I hadn't been there for almost a year to feed her stories, that she would at the very least be weak. I waited for 10 minutes, then a half an hour. Then I felt a fly buzzing around my head. A fly? That doesn't make sense. Flies don't live in winter unless they're fruit flies. I shooed it away, but it zoomed back just as quickly. Then it started tickling me on the nose.
"Get away!" I waved it away. It danced away, and then tickled my neck. Then it landed on the paper I brought with the story. It had a faint blue tinge.
It's blue! I watched as it hovered over the top of the page. Fantasy knew I had a visual impairment. She would make herself seen, if that's who it was. I had brought a small set of acrylics as well as some paper in case I wanted to continue sketching her. I opened the tube of blue paint and put some on the palette. I then changed to a new piece of paper. She wrote her name just as it shows below; I knew it was her. She had been reduced to a spec - I had arrived just in time. I had a mystery from Kent for her to gnaw on until the next time. Hopefully it would be enough. I reached out my hand, set aside the painted pages and read the next story called "A Mystery."
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