There’s a slumbering silence in the wood laid barren by Winter’s embrace. The Frostling’s playground edged with iced puddles and crunching tundra becomes the mystical wonderland one must be quite stealthily adept at venturing through, lest you attract the attention of mischievous Winter sprites. Their pranks are never fun for those affected by freezing fingertips and chilled breath. Who else could have shaken that branch to rain frigid bits of snow down the back of your parka?
I knew this world in all its other seasons. In Spring, it belonged to the Fairyfolk of Newbirth, stretching their long shoots of fragile green toward the weak sun after Long Winter’s Nap. In Summer, the Woodland Nymphs’ songs echoed through the lyrical symphony of Cricket’s orchestra while the Grandmaster Owl chimed in like a baritone Triangle. In Fall, the Brownies of Goblinmeir raced through the snapping twigs of colorful Fallen dying, to prepare the way for the Samhain Procession, a much favored Carnival of Passage…
These were the creative musings of a child blessed with endless imagination. The wood flanked the mile-long gravel drive of my first rural home and their changes never ceased to enchant me. Do I believe in Magic? I was born with it thriving in my veins. I’ve never NOT believed in magic! As a writer, I think if I was ever transformed into a mystical being with magical abilities, I would love to be a Silvertongue like Mo in Inkheart. I would love to make real all of the amazing mythical creatures and worlds that have captivated me since first I ever cracked open a book or set eyes on a film of fantasy. The only twist, I think, is that I would rather have the ability to write these things into reality, rather than having to speak them aloud. Perhaps, my power transforms any ordinary pen or pencil into a Tool of Creation. Then I am known not as Silvertongue, but Omniwriter – since Creator’s already taken.
Think that’s pushing it? 🙂 
A.C. Melody 
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