A Hunter Hangs It Up
I’m not at the end of my hunting trail. But I’m pretty sure that I can see it from here.
I’m not at the end of my hunting trail. But I’m pretty sure that I can see it from here.
The Sage of Oxford, William Faulkner, proved that one could become a giant of letters even if only a shrimp of a man. The size of a mind, heart or talent, y’see, just ain’t dependent on physical stature.
You can have Sedona’s supposed vortexes, rumored peaks of holy repute such as Shasta, Mayan pyramidal cenotaphs or Britain’s maze of sacred ley lines… For me, one of earth’s tiptop magical spots shall always be a wee town on California’s coast named Mendocino.
I’ve found that scouting out the foreign locations I plan to cite in my stories can draw me into fascinating encounters. E.g. (exempli gratia)…
I come to your Earth of 2023 from a much different world. And that distant planet from which I arrive was Earth back in the 1950s. Okay, right, I’ll admit that doesn’t sound like much of a gap or such a grand span of years.