Vying for first choice of my favorite books is The Wood Wife by Terri Windling. Terri Windling is an American author, artist and folklorist who now lives in Devon, England. In order to give you a better introduction to Terri Windling, I refer you to her information here. The first time I read The Wood Wife, twenty some years ago, I was glued to it. Terri Windling weaves together the ordinary with the mystery of the other world to gift us a story read with caught breath in between gasps of “what next” and “how I wish I were there.”…
Category: Books
Impressions ~ Walking II
Vignette \vin-yet\ Etymology (a word’s history) 1) 1751, “decorative design,” originally a design in the form of vine tendrils around the borders of a book page, especially a picture page, from French vignette, from Old French diminutive of vigne “vineyard” (see vine). Since transferred from the border to the picture itself, then (1853) to a type of small photographic portrait with blurred edges very popular mid-19c. Meaning “literary sketch” is first recorded 1880, probably from the photographic sense. https://www.etymonline.com/word/vignette#etymonline_v_7784 2) Definition of vignette (noun) vi·gnette 1a: a picture (such as an engraving or photograph) that shades off gradually into the surrounding…
Impressions ~ Walking I
July 12, 2020 8:53AM. East side of Lone Pine Rd, Crook County, Oregon. On the sidehill of a butte, at the top of a favorite trail. My hair is loose today. I feel witchy. Witches were among the first of the wise women, connected directly to the land. Men and fear turned the word into how it is perceived today. The last quarter of the moon floats high in the southwest sky. A sky-blue and alabaster white translucent pearl. The moon, high in the upper right corner. Almost a forgotten cloud fragment. Above and behind me, the butte is a…
Books & Words II
Childhood Unboxed My left hand held a small leather bound book open across my knee as my pencil transcribed thoughts in fuzzy grey marks. Rustle, rustle, rustle. The pencil spoke to the paper as it skipped along. Not having much choice, the paper agreed to the pencil’s rhetoric. The paper, off-white and lined, fluttered in the breeze. My left hand clamped it down so the pencil could finish a word. I sat on a sun-warmed, charcoal grey, lichen spotted rock on a steep hillside. The hillside was dotted with juniper trees. Bluebirds flitted amongst them. Late afternoon sunlight slanted through…
Books & Words I
My left hand held a small leather bound book open across my knees as my pencil transcribed thoughts in fuzzy grey marks. Rustle, rustle, rustle. The pencil spoke to the paper as it skipped along. Not having much choice, the paper agreed to the pencil’s rhetoric. The paper, off-white and lined, fluttered in the breeze. My left hand clamped it down so the pencil could finish a word. I sat on a sun-warmed, charcoal grey, lichen spotted rock on a steep hillside. The hillside was dotted with juniper trees. Bluebirds flitted amongst them. Late afternoon sunlight slanted through the trees…