Days, miles, words...

... all have passed.

It is months since I posted here. Ian and his companions have journeyed to Hlv, returned to Fimmoth, made their pilgrimage to the Holy Isle of Vios, and sailed east to the mouth of the Norrast River. They now journey upriver toward home.

There have been surprises, both good and ill. The last great barrier - in the category of plot dilemmas - has been resolved, barring nasty surprises for the author. Ian keeps growing and, I suppose, I continue to heal. The tale has always been one of a journey into darkness and back into light, the overcoming of depression. But I have come to recognize that scenes that move me to tears (whether in planning them, writing them, or talking about them) are usually about parts of my inner little boy being healed when Ian grows and is honored.

Fantasy fiction? Absolutely, but still telling my own tale in a very oblique manner over which I have only partial control.

Meanwhile, my back yard has become the home of fruit trees, then roses, then tomatoes and herbs, then annuals for color, and now peppers and a blue border along the south wall. My garden gives me joy.

I have written a new icon, about which more will come in a later post.