Oct. 1st, 2014

jennygordon: (Froud - Wood Woman)
Sometimes, in this writing life, we stand at the edge of the forest and gather ourselves to enter with only instinct as our guide. An idea whispers on the breeze, a fleeting kaleidoscope of images flutters tantalisingly, almost ... almost ... within reach.

The whispers may be nothing more than leaf-murmur; the images only light dappling through branches, but we follow them all the same into the ever-darkening shadows as the forest closes around us. We seek the tracks in the earth, gather the clues caught in brambles and snagged on twigs. We press the story-sign between the pages of our notebooks, wind the story-thread on our pens, spooling it in.

The forest is a-riddle with false paths and deadfalls to block our way. There are rivers of churning confusion to be crossed, and pixie lights that would lead us astray if we let them.

At the moment, after four solid days exploring the forest, I am wandering along a trail that seems clearer than the rest I have followed. My pockets are full of intriguing found-treasure, and I can almost hear the words in the leaf-whisper voices.

"Patience," they are telling me. "Watch the sun-dapple on the forest floor, and watch your step. Between the two, you may find the path you are seeking."

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jennygordon

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