"... He Had Understood, Better Than Anyone

I've Always Been Aware Of The Otherworld, Of Spirits That Exist In That Twilight Place That Lies In The Corner Of Our Eyes, Of Fairie And Stranger Things Still That We Spy Only When We're Not Really Paying Attention To Them, Whispers And Flickering Shadows, Here One Moment, Gone The Instant We Turn Our Heads For A Closer Look. But I Couldn't Always Find Them. And When I Did, For A Long Time I Thought They Were Only This Excess Of Imagination That I Carry Around Inside Me, That Somehow It Was Leaking Out Of Me Into The World.

I'm A Writer And This Is What I Do No Matter What Name We Put To It. Year By Year, The World Is Turning Into A Darker And Stranger Place Than Any Of Us Could Want. This Is The Only Thing I Do That Has Potential To Shine A Little Further Than My Immediate Surroundings. For Me, Each Story Is A Little Candle Held Up To The Dark Of Night, Trying To Illuminate The Hope For A Better World Where We All Respect And Care For Each Other.

There Are People Who Take The Heart Out Of You, And There Are People Who Put It Back.

... We Chase After Ghosts And Spirits And Are Left Holding Only Memories And Dreams. It's Not That We Want What We Can't Have; It's That We've Held All We Could Want And Then Had To Watch It Slip Away.

There Were Two Forests For Every One You Entered. There Was The One You Walked In, The Physical Echo, And Then There Was The One That Was Connected To All The Other Forests, With No Consideration Of Distance, Or Time. The Forest Primeval, Remembered Through The Collective Memory Of Every Tree In The Same Way That People Remembered Myth- Through The Collective Subconscious That Jung Mapped, The Shared Mythic Resonance That Lay Buried In Every Human Mind. Legend And Myth, All Tangled In An Alphabet Of Trees Remembered, Not Always With Understanding, But With Wonder. With Awe.