All forests have their own personality. I don't just mean the obvious differences, like how an English woodland is different from a Central American rain forest, or comparing tracts of West Coast redwoods to the saguaro forests of the American Southwest... they each have their own gossip, their own sound, their own rustling whispers and smells. A voice speaks up when you enter their acres that can't be mistaken for one you'd hear anyplace else, a voice true to those particular tress, individual rather than of their species.

We call them faerie. We don't believe in them. Our loss.

You wouldn't want any creative process to lose its sense of fun and adventure, but that doesn't mean you can't take it seriously as well.

Don't forget - no one else sees the world the way you do, so no one else can tell the stories that you have to tell.

In the dark attics of our minds, all times mingle.

I'm not Chinese. I thrive in interesting times.

Dying doesn't end anything - it just changes where you are