A quiet and gentle flailing.

Each day, more little yellow leafs are on the ground.

The resounding 'eee' in my head is as palpable as is the nearly vibrating excitement of a small, pumpkin-attuned and draconic-horned lorrnath.

I've been in a bit of a 'block' for the greater part of about 4 or more months now.  Setting the sudden and chaotic family health situation aside, I just generally felt a big disconnect with not only the weird little world I write in, but with the entire genre of fantasy in general.  Heck, even expand that out to sci-fi or weird west or anything really.  Creating in those spaces just hit a general stasis (no relation) and I ended up reaching into the archives to produce artwork that I had only thumbnail sketches or rough outlines of.

Recently I've had a bit of a break in that.  I won't go into what it was, but it was significant enough that I not only realized I was blocking myself off from visiting those spaces, but that I also didn't feel the barriers to reach them again.

That's vague, I know, but I try not to go into anything too personal here unless it affects my work in some way.  Let's just say that this was a very good break, and that I'm starting to stretch back into those territories I kept myself from.

Barring any sudden life disruptions, which can indeed be on the horizon indefinitely, the next few months tend to be my most productive.  There will be absurd amounts of imagery with falling leaves, haunted spaces, and pantsless people frolicking and drinking warm drinks.  I'd try to catch them and introduce pants, but I'm old, I have plantar fasciitis and honestly I'm just at an age where I want to enjoy the view and let people be happy.

While I'm exhausted, as I'm on call constantly, I'm not tired, if that makes any sense.  I want to create, paint the gold and blue and embers again, and sip hot chai tea as the mornings get colder.  I'm going into self-imposed lockdown again, since the leadership of the province has utterly failed us.  So hopefully I can spend some time in the head-world, and share the bits of it that I can sketch with you all.

It will soon be pumpkin time.

The leaves have given their prophecy, and are raining a slow gradual fire to usher us to slumber once more.

The ghost-walk will lead the restless to their crossroads, and quiet once more overtake us.

Put the candles in your sills, for the dead fear it's dancing wards, and stumble and sway back to henge-flanked sepulcher, until the earth's inky crepescule swaddles their bones for another year.

-T.J.