The final chapter

Today the story draws to a close: the final chapter. I've spent almost ten years walking with Evelyn. Given the significance of this, I'd like to take a moment to thank my faithful companions for accompanying me on this journey and helping to take my mind to the place where Evelyn resides: Zbigniew Preisner, Michael W. Smith and the BBC National Orchestra of Wales. I thank also movies such as The Lord of the Rings, Life of Pi and We Bought a Zoo who have alighted my eyes with marvelous sights of soaring mountain ranges, picturesque sunsets, sun-streaked trees and far away, magical places. I thank also those who kept me reading as a kid: John Marsden, Judy Blume, J.K. Rowling, Roald Dahl and S. E. Hinton who taught me about adventure and friendship.

By this Peter Pan meets Playing Beatie Bow story, I hope to win back the hearts of many young women who find themselves lost. I hope that one day, at least one woman will see Seasons on the shelf of a bookstore and journey with Evelyn to find that they are loved, worthy and worth waiting for.

This journey is far from over with the (so I've been told) painful editing process ahead, but all the same, writing to the end of a story is quite the achievement. Hoorah to me!

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under Heaven.

Today is winter and the perfect time to finish a book!

Rest in peace

Goodbye. Who would have thought that one innocent word could be so hard to utter? Evelyn knows what to say; she can see the word formed in her mind, yet when she opens her mouth it refuses to tumble out. By speaking such a word it would become a reality; there would be no denying it anymore. Yet it resembles a truth that she refuses to believe so her body denies it pass.

Goodbye. Sayonara. Ciao. Au revoir. Adiós. Hooroo.

Spring passes on the back of a breeze

Spring is an interesting time that would not be interesting at all if it weren't that it followed winter. The fact that the sun glows warm, butterflies fly in abundance, blossom scents fill the air, and the earth is covered with greenery is completely ordinary. But because it follows winter the details of this season are all the more sweeter: the people of the earth come to life once more.

Yet it passes on the back of a breeze and before you know it the sun is blearing high in the sky and the storms are rolling in: you are met with summer. Evelyn tries, somewhat unsuccessfully to savour every moment of spring.

The birds sung sweetly in tune with the morning

And the morning spoke of new beginnings

And everything in its beginning began to look new again.

The zephyr it knew which way to blow

And blow it did at the earth

And the earth smiled agreeably at its new coat.

The flowers of the field swayed in time with the bushes

And the bushes reached up to the trees

And the trees stood tall and proud.

The season sung of glorious days

And the days they stretched in light yet shrunk in time

And the time it passed before my eyes.

When a face escapes you

Oh to forget the face of a loved one! What a truly tragic realisation. Certainly many memories will exist for a lifetime, their laughter, their mannerisms - but their smile, their eyes - it is that which is longed to be held onto. To lose such a thing as a face is deadening, hopeless, soul-crushing. Particularly if that someone is truly a loved one.

Like a cloud of smoke in your minds eye, they appear distant- hazy even. Perhaps an outline is visible and a vague sense of hair colour. But like a word on the tip of your tongue, their face escapes you. It is a deeply regretful realisation for Evelyn to stumble upon.

Where are you, my love?

Where indeed!

I left you long ago

And now your face escapes me.

I saw you picking cherries

On a warm summer's day

But ran from your farm

and cried all the way.

I should have stopped to say good-bye

I should have blown a kiss

But in my haste I couldn't bare

The touch of your caress.

That was long ago

And now my tears are dry.

But my heart it still laments

Oh why? Oh why? Oh why?

Why ever did I run

From your farm long ago?

Though I know the true reason

I still question myself so.

Oh! to see you one last time

Would be a gift for me.

For I loved you up close

But now only distantly.

Those merry brown eyes

and strong jaw-line.

I see all your features but can never

See the full design.

Now I pace the fields of your farm

Hoping upon hope.

But never do I see you

Picking cherries on that slope.

Dawn

There's something hopeful about dawn. Though it is the same sun, it appears new. Though you are in the same place, it feels different. Like a promise. A promise of something better.

Evelyn has an inkling. As the sun grows with brightness, so too does this inkling grow. It is an inkling of hope. And as the light of the dawn is cast upon every crack and crevice, the hope of this new day spreads throughout her body, lifting her feet forward.

There was a time

When willows weeped

But all was contained in a season,

A season of lamentation and sadness.

But now the dawn has come

Bringing warmth and honey,

A new season

Of hope and gladness.

Dark night of the soul

Fury. Absolute fury has engulfed Evelyn. I say engulfed as it is though she has been subject to a beast consuming her. She looks and feels like Evelyn, but her eyes run red with blood. She is on the prowl. The storm of her pain alight inside fuels her want for revenge. Her need for blame. Her desire to attack.

Like a fly on the wall, she witnesses herself. She sees this monster overtaking her and cowers at the sight. She sees it as it really is - not of herself, but subject to the weight of her cross.

Terrifying shadows cast over the ground

'Til the moon hides behind heavy cloud.

Darkness ensues in the cold of the night

And reduces any possibility of sight.

This night is too long.

Oh I cannot bear

The weight of this pain, 

The toll of the wear.

Faster and faster the snow paces the skies

The blur kills all hope of sunrise.

I cringe and cry and crack inside

The very heart of me has died.

Not an inch not an ounce,

There is nothing left.

Not anything to denounce

For all morsels have been theft.

So farewell I am 'bout to bade

But first ask for Your assisting aid.

Aha! This is the key!

For suddenly You come to rescue me...

Awakening

To fall to sleep, not for the rest, but for the awakening on the other side. For new eyes to see things clearly, waking up to the truth you were too tired to see. Circumstances brought about the slumber but then too called you to your awakening. To your awakening. Awakening. Wake up. Sleep no longer.

Wake up sleeper, rise from the dead (Ephesians 5:14).

Evelyn has awoken. Now what will she do?

My Dad is a true man

My Dad does not know how much he means to me. He does not know how much I appreciate his tirelessness in going far out of his way for me. He does not know that I do listen to him and take on board his suggestions. He does not know that I notice the man that he is and take pride in calling him "Dad". My Dad is a true man.

He does not act selfishly. He fights for those that he loves. He openly imparts wisdom. He knows when to speak and when to be silent. He leads well. My Dad is a true man.

He is an encourager, a worker, a dreamer, and a man abounding in love through his actions. My Dad is a true man.

Thank you for teaching me so much. I have been watching. I have been listening. I love you, Dad.

Who are you when no one is around?

Who are you?

A feather in the breeze?

Or a trees blown leaves?

Only time will show,

Only "destiny" will reveal,

Who you are when no one is around.

I expect little but you surprise me - 

When you thought no one was watching.

For I was watching and I caught you.

Not as I suspected, did I catch you, though.

You were strong like the breeze,

Not the leaves in the trees.

And I was pleasantly surprised

By the look in your eyes

When you turned and saw me watching.

Oh! There you go again

With the strength of a hen

Trying to defend your little ones.

My eyes delight in such truths be told,

For I grew cynical a long time ago

That such as you could still be found.

Is Evelyn as pleasantly surprised by the true character of Shaphan?

The journey ahead

I did it. I wrote those wretched words. I endured and now Evelyn prevails! What a relief to have ventured beyond the abyss. Now winters gloom hangs above her miserable head and a new journey awaits her. Oh the excitement of it all!

A journey that must be taken

I have a conundrum. Though I know where Evelyn is heading, I do not want to follow her. I do not want to be responsible for those words on the page- innocent words by themselves, but dangerous when pieced together. Yet I feel the call to follow. I feel it necessary for her to walk down this path, for the destination is righteous. It's the getting there that scares me.

Long ago, when this journey begun, I felt at peace with its direction, feeling that lessons hard learned are still lessons learned. That some people just have to learn the hard way. Evelyn was one of these people. Now that I've reached this stage, however, the practice of writing such things has stunted my progress.

I've tried to work my way around it, to come at it from a different angle, but no angle seems to fit. It's left me with three options: write a story that is untrue to Evelyn, abandon Evelyn completely and cease to write her story, or follow Evelyn down this path.

I feel compelled to continue. Oh forgive me!

May the ending be well worth all that Evelyn has to go through to get there.

Let go of the bird

Freedom. By setting someone else free, you are setting yourself free too. Holding onto a bird harbours a particular inwardness. Set your eyes out and up. Let them fly free and you will fly too- nay- you will soar!

Freedom. Someone wise once told me that you can find freedom in forgiveness. That it's like standing in a cage with the door open and all you have to do is walk out. It is then that you would be free of the burden of your own grudge.

Freedom. Rules give the appearance of restricting and imprisoning. Ever considered the joy of boundaries? Knowing where is wise and unwise to tread?

So why don't you let go of the bird, Evelyn? Walk out of the cage and be free to live under the shelter of wise choices.

Where it all began

This is where it all began. Where the beauty of the world invaded my mind and I fell into a trance of imagination. I was captivated by this arbour and everything just fell into place from there. 

I saw Evelyn sitting alone on the grass. I saw Shaphan spying on her. I saw an orchestra playing sweet tunes in the distance. And their world overtook mine. About a week went by and Evelyn had become a part of me.

All of the key plot points where decided here. Even the ending. It was just a matter of putting fingers to keyboard and bringing it to life.

The rabbit hole

The slope is slippery

I slide uncontrollably

My heels won't catch

Down. Down. Down I go.

What began as a joyride

Has turned into mud, blood,

And an unknown sound ringing in my ear.

The crevasse appears bottomless.

When the fear kicked in and I tried to go back

A voice laughed maliciously in my mind,

"Silly girl. Silly girl."

It taunted that I was theirs for the taking.

The voice applauded at their own cunning,

But I refused to give credit,

For as I travelled deeper I began to realise:

I lost control the moment I slipped.

Hibernation

You know those times in your life where you look around yourself and realise that you are not where you are meant to be? That you had planned on being elsewhere, but slowly, surely you sunk into a rut without even realising it. Like putting a frog in cold water and slowly bringing it to boil, your dreams die a painful death because you weren't diligent enough, weren't smart enough, weren't experienced enough. Your age let you down. The worst part about it, is that you have been in this place for a while but you didn't realise it until now. You've grown use to the place. It's comfortable. It's a place I like to call "hibernation."

Evelyn has fallen into the slumber of winter and is not about to wake up any time soon.

A well-fashioned routine and

The habits of old,

I look around with my eyes closed.

My ears fall deaf to the wind.

I am more awake when I'm asleep.

More asleep when I'm awake.

I am hibernation.

I felt Autumn

I felt autumn the other day. It came quite unexpectedly: between the shadow of a tree and a soft, cool breeze. Up until now it's either been rain or scorching sun. This breeze reminded me of something, the way a smell often does. I think I felt Seasons. Like a long lost friend it all flooded back to me - the story, the characters, the world - and I've been bursting ever since to get back to my office.

Now as I sit here, that peace has returned. I didn't notice its absence through the busyness of life and its fast-paced changes. But now that I am here, I remember that deep longing; that my story world could become more alive than just in my head, that I could immerse myself in it until it became like breathing.

Evelyn- I'd almost forgotten her name. I'd almost forgotten her journey and her importance. I'd almost forgotten why I dreamed her into existence in the first place.

I look forward to the day when you get to discover why I dreamed her into existence. Consider this my resuming my role as author to her life- her breathing.

Fail

Alas! I have failed to reach my target. Yet another year has passed and Seasons remains incomplete. It seems quite appropriate, however, that I should fall short again as it mirrors Evelyn's attempt at living life better. Again and again she tries, yet something always seems to get in the way of her triumph. I suppose this highlights the fact that every morning when we wake up, we start again. We have a clean slate, a clear playing field, a choice to make. Unfortunately for Evelyn, the choice just always seems too hard to make, or rather I should say, the good choice.

Left or right, I always choose backwards.

The furniture doesn't seem to care

And neither do the synapses.

Though my heart does rattle,
Deep, like the booming of a drum
And I begin to wonder of myself.

The thoughts they bring anxiety,

Which quickly turn to dry lungs.

But then it all passes like a snow flake,

Safely I settle to the ground.

My mind finds peace,

Ready to make the same mistake twice.

Heaven poking through

Amidst the hustle and bustle of shoppers, frantic to grab a good bargain, a store laden with beautiful things waits patiently, warm arms open wide. I take delight in the rustic creations of its shelves and inwardly croon and swoon at the serenity created by a piece of soothing music.  I feel peace. And I see Heaven poking through.


Joy reaches his eyes as he relives his childhood. And I see Heaven poking through.


Though her eyes are filled with tears, she smiles with acceptance and carries on. And I see Heaven poking through.


Ahead is a mixture of orange, pink and purple as the sun sets behind with striking gold and yellow. It lights the eight o'clock sky. And I see Heaven poking through.


She smothers me with motherly hugs and kisses. Her love knows no bounds. It reaches the depths of my heart. And I see Heaven poking through.


Evelyn looks into the thickness of Winter; a blur of pine trees and snow disappearing into the misty distance. And she sees Heaven poking through.

Slumber

Something definite about winter is that it has this particular darkness about it. What with the fog and grey enriching the green of the land it may appear beautiful and mysterious, but the reality is quite opposing. Bad choices are made in the darkness of winter. Irrationality is taken on in an attempt to find familiarity, warmth, love. And lust prevails.

Oh! Into this slumber I have fallen.

Against my greater will I have behaved.

Oh! Winter you have tricked me

And set me in this slumber.

Oh Spring come! Awaken my better judgement.

Or if you be delayed,

A freak of nature would be okay.

Oh! Freak of nature wake me from this sleep!

Instead I do what I hate

A thicket of cloud has settled over the land, matching the mood of our heroine. Yet something changes in Evelyn and she acts impulsively. She feels a stranger to her own body. "I do not understand what I do;  for I do not do what I would like to do, but instead I do what I hate" (Romans 7:15).

My left hand brandishes a knife

Whilst my right arm cradles the weak.

My left hand throws a punch

Whilst my right arm settles to sleep.

My left hand creates a barrier

Whilst my right arm invites a guest.

My left hand causes chaos

Whilst my right arm cleans up the mess. 

My left hand slaps my sister

Whilst my right arm holds my brother.

My left hand hates my father

Whilst my right arm loves my mother.