seasons

As many of you many have noticed, the blog has been a little neglected of late. Life comes in seasons, and my family has been experiencing a mildly difficult season. We needed time to work out some instabilities, and that has made writing difficult to accomplish. It also proved to be a time of refocusing and reevaluating.

My children are growing older and maturing into new interests and abilities. My oldest rapidly approaches the teen years and leaves any lingering babyhood behind. My baby at five embodies Megamind and can’t decide whether she wants to be a child or attempt world domination. More and more often our quiet time together involves the great stories of the ages rather than the delightful picture books of childhood.

Economic instability has made the need for better financial planning abundantly clear. Work that is dependent upon the good graces of employers is no longer reliable, and chronic health conditions make meeting imposed hours and standards increasingly difficult. We have begun to take steps toward owning our own businesses and becoming more economically independent.

Our church family is undergoing a period of upheaval as well as the passage of time and evolving needs change the shape of our fellowship. Adjustments are painful and time-consuming, and much more of our time is devoted to helping each other through than had been enjoyed in each other’s company for some time. This also leads to sleepless nights, hours of extra study and prayer, and an inability to schedule.

Because of all these developments and evolutions, there will be changes made here as well. You may find shorter but more frequent snippets of fiction, more spiritual/life reflections, and fewer but more mature book recommendations. Some weeks may be filled with content while others may be silent, depending on the needs of the time. Most importantly, throughout all these changes I will be here, sharing and writing and connecting to the best of my ability. And with book two of the Magicborn series in the works behind the scenes, you really don’t want to miss any updates or teasers that might come this way!

First Chill

https://pixabay.com/photos/hill-pasture-morning-cabin-slope-5136002/

The hay was in. The last two bales perched like strange giant eggs at the edge of the field nearest the house, securely wrapped in their white rain guards. Not that the sky gave any reason to believe the guards were necessary; the colors of the mountain grasses shone in brilliant contrast under the cloudless late summer sky.

Looks were deceiving, Uri knew. The mountains played fickle games with the winds, churning storms into existence within hours or stubbornly channeling every wisp of cloud away from the valleys between them. Little grew in the rocky soil, but the grasses seemed to have some special charm that left them untouched by drought or flood alike and held their roots firmly attached to the bedrock. This year’s crop was exceptional, and would feed the family’s small stock through the temperamental winter to come.

Tomorrow he and Bjorn from higher up the slope would make their yearly trip to the city to resupply the root cellars and pantries before the first snows at the peaks. He smiled, a somewhat grim twist to the corner of his mouth nonetheless. The haying had been late, and the first storms would come soon. It would be the mud that trapped them first, deep and miring. Not even a sled could cross the gullies then. They would need to be quick to prepare in time.

A gust caught his shirt where he stood in the cropped field staring up the mountain. He closed his eyes and let it whip around him, alert for the subtle daggers of cold mixed with the last of the summer warmth that would signal the wild end of peace for the year. There it was, an eddy from above, just the smallest tickle at his bare neck. He breathed deeply and shoved his hands into his pockets. He’d better call Bjorn before supper; they’d need an early start in the morning.

Seasons

She stretched her nearly thawed wings to brush the trees on either side. How much fun dancing among the branches had been, their bare bones crackling beneath the ice of her feathers. How delighted she had been by the cooling that had silenced the world and dressed her in crystal lace. The touch of her dancing feet had adorned every surface with a shining imitation of her, and the flakes that fell from her fluttering wings left white drifts into which she plunged again and again in gleeful abandon.

How strange when warmth began to creep upon her, first little more than an odd spark within her belly but quickly growing to melt her lacy garment thread by thread. The warm drops that fell from her exploded with color where they landed, transforming her playground into an artist’s palette. Silence slowly filled with song and chatter. The wind that had played with her became drunk on her increasing warmth and ripped the melting ice from her wings to fling it to the ground where it sprouted green in soggy puddles.

Soon enough she understood. The warmth had tired her, left her sitting or walking quietly among the blossoms, until her body could no longer contain it. Her child, this flame that had transformed her, hovered near her with the uncertainty of infancy. Wings still unformed, she blinked at the world from the familiarity of her mother’s palms. Her mother fed the last of her strength into the child, who sprouted wings of flame and hurtled skyward with all the enthusiasm of youth. Her fire would grow until the world reflected it’s brilliance, then cool in the last fling of youth before the birth of her own spring.