“Well… since you’ve come this far, I’ll let you inside—but don’t touch anything.”
“Uh, okay,” I replied.
“Not ‘okay’. You say ‘yes’ like you mean it.”
Huffing, the guy turned and walked back into the cottage. Not even bothering to make sure I was following.
“Shut the door on your way in,” he called over his shoulder, moving down a flight of steps.
I could feel it.
My nerves were bubbling. Oozing. All my veins were dancing, jittering against my bones.
All my life I’d waited for this. Looked for it. Sought after it.
I was finally here.
The Ocean Library. Continue reading “Between the Tides”
It was a leaf.
One singular leaf.
And it fell.
Speaking only in a whisper as it went. Its last cry carried on the wind that took it from its place, its home. It was just the one leaf, falling through the breeze. Calling to me, warning me, as it did.
He is not the same.
That’s what the leaf said.
He is not who you think him to be.
Was the echo the wind gave. Words that spoke of fall, of seasons changing. Words that carried truth to them. A resounding, hollow ring.
I will tell you something that few know:
A forest on the verge of death can only speak truth. It has been that way since always. Since forever. An ancient law, as old and bright as the sun. Which is how I knew:
He was not who I thought he was. Continue reading “Cold Comes the Lie”
We were wolves, basking in the glow of the moonlight. Chasing autumn’s heels as winter froze our game. Hungry bellies that ached beneath the warmth of our fur, our smoking breaths, our hopeful howls. We huddled through the cold, cobbling warmth together with beating hearts and heated blood. When spring came, we were the first to greet it. Singing praises to the melting snow and the blooming life. All things renewed in our meadows, filling us to the brim with new scents, new trails. And we stayed through summer as well, panting through the sun’s burden of heat. Powering through so that we might blend with the colors of autumn once again.
We were wolves.
And things were beautiful.
It was not perfect.
It was not easy.
It was life.
And it was good.
We were wolves. Together under the gaze of the forgiving moon. Hidden along the trees’ shadows, watchful and hopeful with every passing season. Looking forward to the future together with our eyes looking past the skies.
Now I’m unsure.
The foreign scent brings me grief. Filling me to the brim with something akin to summer’s heat, yet, it leaves me empty like winter’s bared teeth. This strange, familiar shape I see…
This change brings a season I’ve never heard of before. Winds that jar my senses with the foreign scent it brings.
And I don’t know anymore.
If we are not wolves…
Who will we be? Continue reading “Forging Seasons”
The day the invitation showed up was the day I knew:
They found me.
And, more than likely, they weren’t going to let me go.
Not this time. Continue reading “Summer Fling Of A Summer King”
There is a time and a place for everything they say.
And, if that’s true, then the time and the place at which something happens is meaningful, has purpose. I don’t know if it’s because the stars align, or the moon gravitates to our souls, or if it’s because someone sneezed, and that sneeze was the most important exhale that humanity has ever heard. I have no idea why things are important, why they take place when they take place.
But they do take place, in times and at certain places, for a reason.
They’re oh-so important.
Things happen when they happen for a reason.
There is a reason. Continue reading “Facing Fall”
Crunching red underfoot. Hanging orange from above. The wind whispers chills into my veins, raises goosebumps on my skin with it’s secrets. The trees are naked, bare. Revealing that even nature has its weaknesses. Even nature needs to rest.
I love the fall.
The way the wind rises, and the trees burn without ash, and the air tingles with the chill.
For a season of dying, it’s all very lively. Filled with light, and color. Brings you an aching sort of melancholy. One that ends with a hope, and a bitter cold twist.
An ache you don’t want to ignore. Continue reading “Feeling Fall”
I had always thought I liked winter best. The way the cold pricks at your nose, keeps your senses sharp. Covers the ground with white, dusting away what once was in favor of what could be. A clean slate with the death of the past. Of what was.
Yeah, I liked winter best.
In all honesty, I think I still do.
There was one thing I forget to account for.
Winter is so, so cold. Continue reading “Wolf of the Winter Wood”
Stumbling across things in the woods is what I live for. What I’d die for. There’s so much out there, just waiting to be found.
I was still young at the time. Young enough that I didn’t know.
But now I do.
Some things aren’t meant to be found. Continue reading “Bone Loss”