It is in the season between planting and replanting, when the valley is lush with food stuffs, flowers whose beauty is beyond imagination stand tall and seeds have been gathered to dry. On the Island of the *WE* such a time is brief. There are no long iced in winters here but most certainly there is a pause, a cause for celebration. In this "twixtortween" season (which coincides with sailors and seekers wanting to be elsewhere), like magic the veil of mist lifts and drifts away from the mountains. To feel the blush of the full moon on a person's flesh would possibly encourage a howl, a song, a celebration. And this is how it was.........
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