I won’t be begging you, but I wish you’d join me on my first graveyard walk of the season. We’ll leave at dusk on the..
The first harvest was looming, and my dreams became bitter tea steeped too long in golden light, juniper berries, mountain winds, and resurrected childhood memories..
A faint but persistent sourness in the once-wholesome brine of the sea cast a sudden grief spell upon my cracking eggshell heart, and I summoned..
Holding my grief like a slow-dying hatchling, I sought out the wisdom of the pipe-smoking hag. My plans were to prostrate myself at her feet..
The moon was swelling with its usual midspring wildness, spitting its silver-light remedy straight into all my aching places, hissing its secret, slippery salve into..
The silver tongue of that thinning moon was licking me in just the right places, and I crept from my bed like a lust-drunk and..
A midnight fit, it was. A touch of early-spring fatigue salted with a good deal of extrasensory indulgence sent me straight to a well-attended grief ritual for this, our most beloved world. Here, I came upon an ominous spirit..
These are the days of the late-winter ache, and I’ve learned to hear the haunted call of those never-born-always-dead hags who are wiser than I..
Before I start writing this blog, I want to get a few things out of the way. I speak for no one except myself and..
I wouldn’t bother her. Not today. Best keep those formalities tucked away in your pockets for those mannerly friends blessed with visions tamer than hers,..
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