June 4th, 2021
Here is a small excerpt from the prologue of my current novel I am working on — Moonstone.
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The Summer Sun broke through the Summer leaves – little orbs of light danced a ghostly ball upon the forest floor. The wind drew in a gentle breath and blew through its nostrils, sending the evening cicadas along in their mating chorus into the deep of twilight. Tree frogs chirped in harmony, and the whole forest resounded with the innocence of the long retiring noontide – atmospheric pressure and temperature at a healthy medium.
How often these trees hide away my thoughts behind a curtain: here the soil beats ancient drums and its fruit whistles with far away war horns. Time is always ready, and yet time is without need of any readiness. Here in the hills of the Southeast, I like to think through humidity’s intoxicating cloud, even if it is thick with the laboring of insects and the hidden burrows of serpents. This is the place where my meta-analyses propagate and flood into every vessel perceived by my six senses: thus do my spirits inhabit the world around me. I walk into a dead forest to restore its meaning, and so it comes alive into conceptual Being.
Light in my eyes, I squint at the western horizon to my right. But to my left, the wood darkens and the trees begin to grow into their shadows . . . Straight above my head I take my gaze up, and the clouds’ ebb and flow roll into a thunderous council. The wind picks up on the arrival of a divine congress and hastens its formulation.
Hair blowing in my eyes, my vision broken, my heart seized with panic and I hear a screech and the foreboding body of a thought-form that could only rise from the surreal field of imagination. The mind is an eagle-creature that sits atop a mountain gazing strongly into the Sun with its proud chest out, but underneath a dark fire writhes and coils closer and closer and yet still closer to a talon lying lazily over the edge. One bite sends the eagle aflight in a frenzy of feathers . . .
And a flurry of grey feathers snows in front of my eyes. I look up to see the bird, only to find the face of the Great Horned Owl gazing back into mine. For an instant I see that the trees are perhaps not mine to have, and the distortion of the darkness fills in the gaps of what fear has inhabited my heaven. I knew this place was old and forbidden, but I came here to find solace for my aching loneliness. Indeed, I have found it in this verdant abode, a sacred grove where the Earth opens and the Sky cracks with a whip of lightning tearing a weathered seam . . . Behind the stormcloud, I hear the Moon’s silver sliver waxing and sharpening into a deathly sickle, though about her head is a slight glimmer of the rarely seen eternal promise of a moonbow. But her radiance gladdened me, and a sweet aroma of clover dressed in gossamer gown quelled my alarm, and I darted off easily and quietly through the brush of elder saplings as a rabbit who flees back to its bedroom burrow out of the villainous wilderness and into the ordinary mindscape of civilization.
The audio above is from the soundtrack of Oddworld: Abe's Oddysee.