My poem is a little offsides, but this is what came in response to the d’Verse Art in Nature prompt. I love to write about animals but if you give me a picture of one and ask me to write, my mind always gallops off in a diverse direction. The pattern on the wings of this butterfly reminded me of many eyes in a board room …
Happy New Year everyone. I have finally returned home and am more than ready to resume my normal life. I told my family I am ‘holidayed out now’ after the unexpected trip to Japan in December plus our planned family vacation to Babanango Game Reserve and the Drakensberg. It was all wonderful and I have lots of amazing photographs to share but I’m ready for some routine and work.
Picture caption: Cheetah cubs feeding an an impala
***
aunt sick
third time this year
sons decide on action
removal to retirement home
drama
***
long month
worst time of year
examinations start
house seeped in great anxiety
works out
***
surprise
trip to Japan
opportunity grabbed
exciting snow monkey sighting
special
Picture caption: Snow monkeys in the thermal spring in Japan
Tanka Tuesday final challenge
Colleen’s final Tanka Tuesday Challenge is to write a poem using your Native American Zodiac for inspiration. Mine is the Bear and my poem takes the imayo syllabic form.
No bears here in Africa; also no tigers
West was home to Atlas bear, alas now extinct
There are African ant bears – ant eating aardvarks
About two years ago, I was inspired to write a story different from my usual fare. Not a story confined by one supernatural artifact or talent, but one steeped in magic and folklore.
The first thing I did after deciding on the premise of my winter tale was research winter-themed folklore for my characters. I knew I’d have a weaver, a prince, and a king, but I needed magical creatures and persons to flesh out the story.
What I quickly discovered is that our snowy northern hemisphere is rich in lore, and my imagination was captured, not by one folklore tradition, but by multiple stories that spanned the globe. I also discovered that no single tradition met all my needs. I wanted to draw from Celtic, Germanic, Scandinavian, Swiss, and Slavic folklore, as well as the rich lore of the Arctic, Japan, Greece, and Native American cultures.
Two challenges stared me in the face. One, how could I logically combine all these different characters into one cohesive lore? And two, could I respectfully deviate from the original tales to fit my story and let my characters be themselves.
My solution was to build my own folklore, drawn from the globe’s varying magical traditions, to give everyone new names, and let them be themselves. As the tour progresses, I’ll be sharing the original traditions that led to the creation of my characters—the persons, magical creatures, and monsters—and an excerpt showing the result.
Today, we’re starting with the “un-magical” humans who make a very poor decision and kick off the story.
Picture caption: Image of hunters with bows and arrows in a dark, snowy woodscape
Excerpt: Prolog
A silver stag, antlers wide enough to cradle the moon, bounded through the meadow, its cloven hooves kicking up fountains of blowing snow. Lothar stood firm, bowstring taut, knuckle to his chin. His exhales billowed into ghostly clouds that curled and vanished into the squall’s biting cold. He whispered a prayer for mercy and, squinting through winter’s falling shroud, loosed his arrow.
In a blast of bitter wind, a white wraith swept from the charmed wilderness, screaming like a banshee. Her frozen breath slashed the rising storm with the keenness of a blade, casting splinters of frost into Lothar’s face. They crusted on his eyebrows and dangled in clattering icicles from his gray beard.
His oaken arrow, true when it left his bow, halted in mid-flight and would have tumbled into the mounding drifts had the spirit not flung it free. The quarrel drove, cruel and swift, into the stag’s ribs. The doomed animal bellowed as it collided with a thicket of brambles marking the meadow’s edge. It thrashed in the thorns, great antlers tangling, and with a final heave, it broke through into the darkness beneath the forest’s enchanted trees. Branches shuddered and swept closed, powdering the frigid air as they concealed the giant beast’s fate.
“We should chase it down.” Connovir tramped ahead of the other men, his boots crunching through the icy pack buried under the blizzard’s softer blanket. He wiped his nose on a coat sleeve as he joined his father. “Your aim was true. If not for the charmed, the stag would be ours.”
“Hunting here was a gamble.” Lothar narrowed his eyes at the shadows creeping between the snow-laden boughs. He knew well the whispered warnings of the elders, tales of ancient boundaries and charmed creatures that lurked in the deep places no man dared enter.
Nonetheless, his youngest boy had spoken the truth. On human land, the animal was fairly won. Whatever the wind’s nature, ordinary or magical, it had robbed the village of much-needed food.
Petrar, looking formidable in his shaggy bearskin coat, trudged down the meadow’s slope in Connovir’s prints. Midwinter reddened his cheeks and ruffled the fur trimming his woolen hat. “Connovir speaks sense, Lothar. We cannot return to our families empty-handed. Not in this winter.”
Three other hunters gathered around him. Niklas, a long-toothed grandfather, exhaled into his cupped hands. Twin brothers, Arne and Baldir, had young ones at home, and though Lothar’s family also suffered from hollow bellies, Petrar’s challenge bristled his nerves.
“We will hunt tomorrow,” he said. “I will leave an offering for the Winter King on the border stone from my own stores.”
“That does nothing.” Connovir’s chin tucked into his collar. “I say we take what is ours.”
Lothar’s eyes thinned into gray fissures, his son’s recklessness encouraging the others. “No. This is not your decision. We’ll not tempt fate for the price of a meal. The charmed are forces of nature who will steal a fool’s life without conscience. We do not trespass where their shadows fall.”
Petrar scraped a mitten down his face. “I do not wish to argue, Lothar, but the stag is gravely wounded. Let us follow the blood to the meadow’s edge. If the beast is within reach, we drag it out. If it’s run off, I agree that we abandon the hunt and turn back.”
Lothar frowned at the forest. The trees stood silent. Watching, waiting. Snow whispered through the branches, and he tasted magic in the air. The wind-wraith keened her omen of death.
Blurb
Picture caption: Cover of Tale of the Seasons’ Weaver by D. Wallace Peach depicting a lovely young girl against a background of flowers.
“Already the animals starve. Soon the bonemen will follow, the Moss Folk and woodlings, the watermaids and humans. Then the charmed will fade. And all who will roam a dead world are dead things. Until they too vanish for lack of remembering. Still, Weaver, it is not too late.”
In the frost-kissed cottage where the changing seasons are spun, Erith wears the Weaver’s mantle, a title that tests her mortal, halfling magic. As the equinox looms, her first tapestry nears completion—a breathtaking ode to spring. She journeys to the charmed isle of Innishold to release the beauty of nature’s awakening across the land.
But human hunters have defiled the enchanted forest and slaughtered winter’s white wolves. Enraged by the trespass, the Winter King seizes Erith’s tapestry and locks her within his ice-bound palace. Here, where comfort and warmth are mere glamours, she may weave only winter until every mortal village succumbs to starvation, ice, and the gray wraiths haunting the snow.
With humanity’s fate on a perilous edge, Erith must break free of the king’s grasp and unravel a legacy of secrets. In a charmed court where illusions hold sway, allies matter, foremost among them, the Autumn Prince. Immortal and beguiling, he offers a tantalizing future she has only imagined, one she will never possess—unless she claims her extraordinary power to weave life from the brink of death.
Picture caption: Winter scene featuring the Winter King and a woman all in white on a white stallion
My review
If I were to summarise this book in one sentence, I would say it was like reading a picture. The author has a wonderfully imaginative mind and an ability to capture beauty as well as death and destruction in detailed and graphic word pictures. In the manner of C.S. Lewis, the author has created a beautiful frozen world that traverses both the fantasy realm of the Charmed in the everyday world of humans. Due to the inflated ego and anger issue of the King of Winter, both worlds are in danger of destruction as he decides to maintain an eternal winter. This story line differs from the frozen world of Narnia in that winter cannot be maintained indefinately without all life being destroyed due to the non-event of spring.
Erith is the new Season’s Weaver having assumed the mantle from her Charmed mother who decided to follow her human father into death. Erith lacks confidence in her powers and abilities as she is a halfling and identifies more with humans than with the Charmed. Despite her reservations, she takes on the responsibilities of the Weaver and is sadly deceived and disappointed by the actions of the Winter King who kidnaps her and attempts to force her to weave an eternal winter. I would classify this book equally as a fantasy and a coming of age story as Erith is forced to take the unwanted responsibility of saving the world from the Winter King despite her inexperience and fears. Fortunately for Erith, she has a number of wonderful allies to help her along the road, in particular, the Prince of Autumn.
Tale of the Season’s Weaver is an enthralling tale spun in delightful words of beauty with a lot of subtle symbolism and themes of morality, the nature of life, both mortal and immortal, friendship, and internal strength.
Lovers of C.S. Lewis and Tolkien will revel in this delightful and intriguing story.
Peach started writing later in life when years of working in business surrendered to a full-time indulgence in the imaginative world of books. She was instantly hooked.
In addition to fantasy books, Peach’s publishing career includes participation in various anthologies featuring short stories, flash fiction, and poetry. She’s an avid supporter of the arts in her local community, organizing and publishing annual anthologies of Oregon prose, poetry, and photography.
Peach lives in a log cabin amongst the tall evergreens and emerald moss of Oregon’s rainforest with her husband, two owls, a horde of bats, and the occasional family of coyotes.
Thank you so much to Carla from Carla loves to Read for sharing this article about Elephants: Brains and Memory in celebration on Michael and my new children’s book: Sesi Says Goodbye to Granny.
Carla has a wonderful book review site and I have found several fabulous new reads there so I hope you take a look around while you are there.
This is the final Thursday Doors prompt of the year. Dan suggested a prompt of favourite doors of the year, but I am going to share some fabulous Tokyo store front scenes. The location of these pictures is Ginza in Tokyo.
This is the store front of Zara. I thought it was intriguing with the many curtains. I loved the flower decorations in this clothing store – you can see the glass door to the left of the pictureChristmas theme store front of the Komehyo StoreAh, you want to see the door – here it is. This store was still closed.I liked this store front with all the flowers going upwards in layers. I loved this Tiffany & Co storefront with displays of fresh flowers and the street scene reflected in the glass.This building is just fabulous, from its intriguing decoration on the building itself to the store front I thought this store front was interesting. It reminded me of the game, Jenga.I love this store front with the open book and unicornAnd as this is a doors post, here is the door for you
I have a schedule post going out on Christmas Day for In Touch with Nature. If you are interested in the amazing snow monkeys I saw in Japan, this post is decorated to them.
I am still on reduced blogging until 7 January as we are going to the bush on 31 December and my sister and her family are arriving from Cape Town on Monday – so exciting!
Michael had a gastroscope on Monday and we saw the doctor yesterday. He has been diagnosed with laryngopharyngeal reflux (LPR), a condition in which stomach acid flows back up the esophagus (swallowing tube) into the larynx (voice box) and throat. His throat is quite swollen and burned. The condition is being treated with medication. In terms of Michael’s complex medication history, this isn’t that serious for which I am very grateful.
When I was a little girl, my dad landscaped the garden of his aunt’s new house. It was a big job and he spent a few months working there. When he worked on a Saturday, he would take Cath and I with him and we would have to make the best of it and entertain ourselves as best we could in his aunt’s old fashioned and rambling house.
We were scared to go out of the house as the garden was in an uproar with huge machines moving great piles of earth to shape hillocks that would one day be covered with grass or flowers. There was also a small cottage across the cemented back yard. This slightly ramshackle cottage appeared creepy and mysterious to me. Cath and I used to watch the cottage from the back doorstep. It fascinated us. Sometimes we could see shadows moving about inside and always we could hear loud and strange music playing. The reason we were so interested in this cottage and its occupant was that Dad said that the young man who lived there was a drug addict and a disappointment to his mother.
Naturally, this made the cottage as interesting as the locked sweet cupboard to a curious and sheltered child like me who didn’t know what a drug addict was and would very much like to see one.
In between our watch from the back doorstep, Cath and I wondered about the large, empty house looking for amusements. We found them in the form of toilet roll holder dolls. We would remove them from their places atop the extra toilet rolls in the four bathrooms and take them into the kitchen where we could play with them and still watch the cottage. The dolls had crocheted dresses in green, pink, yellow, and orange. The dolls looked a lot like the first flimsy Barbie dolls, but they had long hair, and the skirts of the dresses were very full to facilitate their going over a toilet roll. To me, these dolls were beautiful, and I desperately wanted one.
One day, while we were deeply absorbed in our dolls game, a young man came into the kitchen. He didn’t come out of the cottage but rather from inside the house somewhere. He had long hair and a guitar, but other than that he seemed ordinary. He spoke to us girls and was very interested in our doll game.
The next time Dad took us with him to work, the domestic helper presented us with a doll each. Mine was green and Cath’s was pink. They were from Aunty Roz’s son.
I was delighted with this wonderful gift. So much so that I still have that green crocheted dress. It was a while before I realised the gift was from the drug addict. My delight at receiving the doll helped to mitigate my crushing disappointment in the drug addict who looked just like any other young man in his early 20s.
Magnificent gifts
Slender dolls in fine dresses
With wide, ruffled skirts
Providing entertainment
For two lonely little girls
Tanka Tuesday
This week’s Tanka Tuesday is hosted by David and this is his great challenge:
So, this week’s challenge is to compose a ‘Sekar ageng’ poem , according to the following rules, as laid out by Murisopsis:
Sekar ageng – This Javanese form is traditionally recited as a song. The modern form is comprised of any number of quatrains (4 line stanzas) with 17 syllables per line. Each line is divided by caesurae (breaks) after sections of 4 syllables, 6 syllables and 7 syllables in that order.
Picture caption: Amsterdam’s very busy Central StationPicture caption: Royal Palace of AmsterdamPicture caption: Dutch Pancake Masters – we had breakfast here and it was very delicious. Picture caption: my breakfast – egg and bacon pancake. I couldn’t eat it all.
Travelling
I am travelling to Japan on Monday so I will be posting and visiting a lot less until 6 January 2025. I have a few scheduled posts going out and I will pop in and visit you all when I can. Wishing you all a wonderful festive season.
roberta-writes.com 