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[personal profile] marycatelli
Time passes in stories.  Which means it passes even in the regions where a story of mine is taking place. . .

Where it's always dusk, because it is the last woods in the world. . .

It's spring there, now.   The flowers are all spring flowers, and early spring flowers.  A rose bush (in a clearing, of course) has leaves, but they're not even fully fledged.

Inspiring philosophical thoughts about how it would proceed through full summer, into fall, and the snows of winter, without ever changing the time of day.

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marycatelli

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