We spend a lot of time in twilight, which is a liminal condition, a no-man's land. The light has an eerie and melancholy quality. I suppose this has carried over into my writing as well, both in the sense of the eerie and melancholy, but also the sensation of having stepped sideways into another world where the sun has stopped in its course.
In March, my 8-year-old daughter, Molly, asked me if I believed in ghosts.
(all the kindness of Tāne; leaf-shadow and branch-shiver, fern-frond unfolded)
