'Tis The Season

The cold leaches into bones turning fingers and toes numb while plumes of frost dance on each breath and Jack readies for the coming snows.

Leaves of green shed their emerald coats to assume the reds and golds, the beacons to the coming hunt of old.

Loki’s army, jokesters that they are, prepare in nooks and crannies for the mischief that must be.

Children feel the anticipation and mistake it for the joy of costumes to hide their innocent hearts.

Fires spring to life to chase away the chill, to hold the last heat and light of the growing times, to endure the dead.

Whispers fly on the winds of change, a call, a chant and stir to action. The Hunt is coming, the time is near.

The curtain falls, the veil is thin and the blood moon rises for the games to begin.

On All Hallows Eve, the children laugh while goblins dance in the streets and witches take that leap.

To Battle a Mirror

This has got to be the hardest thing I’ve ever set out to do.

I’ve driven across the country with less then $400, a 3 month old baby and an injured shoulder. That was an easy stroll to check the mail compared to this.

Working two jobs just weeks after having a baby was like tossing a TV dinner in the microwave when put next to what I’m doing now.

Fighting to join the Air Force was nothing more then a casual conversation with old friends, while this, this is a life or death pleading in an unknown language and I don’t even have a phrase book to help me along.

I’ve battled demons, tackled dragons and nightmares, and kept my feet when the earth heaved. I’ve overcome plagues, mutilation, sociopaths and horrors. I’ve fought a battle against an army with only a Shield of Crone, the Sword of Motherhood, and the Hope of Maiden.

But this, this path I’ve been laid, goes so far beyond that, my knees bend in awe, my heart trembles with fear such as I’ve never known before and my mind fights against the knowledge of what must be.

All of that was nothing more then a peaceful fall evening under an Oak. This, this is hard. This is rushing blind folded and bare footed across a newly paved six lane highway during LA rush hour. But my babies welfare sits on the other side.

And what is this? This horrific feat I need to do? This, my dear friends, is write. And that, believe it or not, is the hardest thing I will ever have to do.

Why? Because in order to write I must battle the worst demon you can ever imagine, myself. I stand between me and the book, the page, the word. The armor I wear is damn near impossible to get past. I brandish a flaming sword in one hand, a poisoned tipped cat-of-nine-tails in the other. I know my every move before I do. I can throw obstacles in my way I know are far beyond my skills to over come.

How do you fight a mirror? How do you get past yourself?

With head held high, the power of Knowledge by your side and little help from the Web Mistress, Liberian and knowing that you must.