Cover Tease, Day Three

By now, you all know how much I love tree roots. 

Vanesa made them come to life. 

Cover Tease, Day Two

I love the colors. 

Cover Tease ... Day One

Time to have some fun. I've been quiet for weeks, but I had good reason. The conclusion of the Legends of the Aurora trilogy is about to hit the shelves. But first, let's have a little fun.

Once again, I worked with the amazing, incredible, talented, and gifted digital artist, Vanesa Garkova. Truth be told, Vanesa took my crude idea and created a stunning book cover that I can't wait to reveal. In fact, It's so fabulous, I decided to reveal it a slice at a time. Call me a tease.

The Orange Door

Today, we continue down the frightening path first traveled by our intrepid Creature Feature Writer of the Stoughton Press. 

Doing my due diligence for our readers, this reporter attempted to trace the relationship between fairies and the autumnal equinox, but nothing seemed to fit. Fairies are simply not regarded as creatures of the autumn. Some claimed they migrated south for the winter, but others were certain they hibernated nearby. I knew better. They were out there, waiting for me. Looking back, I now realize they were never far. With frayed nerves, I donned comfortable boots and a leather coat in an absurd attempt to keep malicious spells at bay.

I endeavored to retrace the tangled path laid down by Leaf all those weeks ago, but I quickly lost my way, and I suspected I wasn’t alone. A mushroom winked on to my right. Then another a few yards up the path. I did my best to ignore the fairies rising like fireflies from the forest floor, but it wasn’t easy. Afraid to look back, I sensed mischief as the fairies continued to swarm, pushing me forward, silent but for the buzz of their wings. 

Leaf stepped from behind a maple, its leaves ignited by the multi-hued swarm behind me. “There are many sides to a legend, human,” she said. “Blaze insists you know hers.” A tiny sun lifted from an oddly pungent wild rose. Behind the white fairy, the portal tree pierced the quarter moon, a tree so massive it would have taken a dozen men to encircle its base.

I moved closer as the swarm settled in the shrubbery, their tiny wings humming with distrust. “The trolls are children, fools living in ignorance and denial, and the dragons are little more than animals.” Blaze lifted her chin, and I noticed Leaf stiffen. 

“Careful, Blaze. You had need of the dragons once, and you may again.” The fairy snorted, but Leaf continued. “You didn’t sniff at the dragons when you needed their help.” 

Blaze crossed her arms and looked away.

I heard a snap followed by crashing through the canopy of the towering tree, and I stepped back, raising my arm against whatever had grown tired of the pompous fairy as an object slammed into the ground at my feet. 

Leaf approached it and looked up. “The tree has chosen you. I knew it would, although I must admit, I hesitate to believe it.” 

I tapped the glistening plum with my boot. “Chosen—for what?” Blaze flared, shining her light on the base of the tree. It didn’t look like any plum tree I had ever seen, but it all made sense now. Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the fairy’s intense flare and a shape began to appear in the deep moss shrouding the bark. Indistinct at first, an iron ring, like that on a medieval castle protruded from an orange door that glowed like a sunset even as Blaze dimmed her internal fire. 

“The tree chose you for this journey.” Leaf smiled up at me as the door began to open. Under the golden light streaming through her auburn hair, Leaf looked every bit a fairy, but she bore no wings. 

The reporter in me clawed to the surface, smothering my instincts to run. “Is it dangerous?” 

Leaf beckoned me to my knees before the squat door. “All journeys worth taking are dangerous, human.” 

The harsh squawk of bickering gulls echoed down the portal as I crawled forward to peer down the passage.

Suddenly, a scream—part panther, part something—other, curled my toes. “Dragons?” I prayed I was wrong, but Leaf brushed a bead of perspiration from my cheek. 

“Oh, yes. One very special dragon.” 

Fear seeped in at the edges of my adventurous spirit. “I—I have a deadline. People are waiting for this story.” 

Blaze buzzed closer as the moon dove under a blanket of clouds. “The signs are fading, human. We must hurry.” 

I looked over my shoulder at the black night, and made up my mind. Pulling a pad from my pocket, I scribbled this report. I now leave it the clutches of the swarm, but I have no way of knowing if it will be delivered. If I don’t return, know that I chose to go, but if I do, imagine the story I’ll come back with for I am Rebecca Porter, Creature Feature Writer. 

Originally published in the Stoughton Press Autumn 2015

Early Winter Walk

I know. The calendar says it's still autumn, but this far north, winter is underway. Still, I shouldn't complain. The storms that have been raging throughout much of the western half and upper plains of the United States, have swung around us. We were hit with 8 inches a few days back, but it melted quickly, leaving the extra moisture to spread green though out the grasses and moss species of the region. I decided to take advantage of things and got out there with my camera. 
Why don't you come along?

It may have been a nice day, but winter was certainly licking at the edges of forest.

But it wasn't hard to find patches of brilliant green moss, resilient in the face of the bitter cold.

I can always count on the forest fungi to add a splash of color. I like to think of the middle photo as a nasty set of green teeth, and this one as snow dripping from delicate cups of fungus.

I call this photo Fuzzy Rock. It's coated with a soft fringe of algae at the edge of the river. It waved and dipped with the current, and I had a difficulty looking away. 

Seed heads are some of my favorite photo opportunities in the winter woods. 

Of course, I wasn't alone. Never. Never Alone in the Forest.

At the end of my journey, I wished this oak a silent slumber. Winter is a time of rebirth as those seeds fall to the ground and begin their migration deep into the soil with the the cycles of freeze and thaw. Even in slumber, the forest never rests. 

Shattered Bones, Beautiful Legacy

While out admiring the leaves this week, I stumbled on this amazing structure. I know some of you are looking at this "wreck" and thinking A. Sad B. Ruin C. Tear it Down or D. All of the Above, but I see a shattered beauty that gave her all for her family. 

Look at her. Against all odds, she still stands. She won't forever, but I have a wonderful story to share with you. 

I pulled to the side of the rural road outside my hometown and slung my camera across my shoulder. Snapping away, I pulled the camera from my eye to find a man walking toward me. Startled, I remembered to smile and say hello. "She's a beauty," I told him. 

"Yep. I learned to milk a cow by hand in Grandpa's barn." He obviously loved this barn. "I offered to pay for a new roof years ago, but Dad said no. It wasn't worth it, but now I wish I had pushed harder." His eyes twinkled. 

"You want to know what I see when I look at her?" I asked. "I see crisp, early mornings of your family warming their hands in the breath of a cow. I see hot summer afternoons, rushing to finish the milking before showering and heading out on your first date. I see art that can't be purchased. It must been nurtured, slowly."

He looked away. "I get people stopping here all the time. They all want to take a piece. You can't imagine how many people think of this as their barn."

"I'm not one of those people. I would never muddy your sacred space, but I want to take its image with me, to cherish when one day it's gone."

He nodded, and I snapped another photo. 

"How old is it?" I asked.

"Grandpa built it in 1941."

That seemed young to me, but he continued. 

"He couldn't get his hands on all the steel he needed. The war, you know. It had to come first. If they had only had more rebar, the foundation wouldn't have given out. The rock part of the foundation is still standing strong, but the cement crumbled, and well ... "

The hair on my arm stood up. I knew that if it had been built at any other time, a time without the rationing of World War II, it would still be standing strong. This man's grandfather gave to the war in an invisible way. "I sensed it was special, but thank you for sharing that with me. It's an incredible story." I took one more photo and said goodbye. I hope it wasn't for the last time. 

A Blaze of Glory

I'm human, although I often wish I wasn't. Can't you see me as a dragon? Back away from the flame, Rebecca. Anyway, Autumn in Wisconsin is glorious this year, but it always a reminder of the deep freeze to come. (I'm so not looking forward to winter) However, this year autumn has been spectacular. 

Some year, the gush of golden glory comes and goes in a single week, but 2015 has seen a protracted autumn. I can't stop driving around to ogle.  

It's not all about the trees. It's often the details that catch my eye. 

There's symmetry in a milkweed pod that is there ... if you look for it. 

But my favorites are trees that slowly start one color only to soften into something darker, richer, more ... autumnal. 

Enjoy the season wherever you live. Here in Wisconsin the sweet smell of summer flowers is already a distant memory, but I'm relishing the final fireworks before the world turns gray and white.