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Writing Wendl...

I really did want to write a light-hearted tale in case this one turns out to be my last novel (assuming it yet becomes a novel), but it's headed currently toward the shadows. I thought I knew Wendl Von Trier pretty well, having trekked with him through my previous book, The Winged Child .   There, Wendl presents as an elusive solitary, moving above all worldly fray while at the same time nudging events and characters toward a satisfactory conclusion. Sharp and intimidating on the outside and tender and motherly on the inside. A friend to the world, something of a trickster, but in all things working for good outcomes.  That is how I saw Wendl VonTrier. A  púka, mischievous, but essentially harmless, even benevolent, capable of presenting in whatever form or gender the moment required. Wendl seemed the ideal candidate to carry readers off into the literary sunset in good spirits after an exhilarating romp through a fantastical fiction. But all along, it seems, there were depths to

visitors...


We've had some visitors in the garden during the first week of March. A pair of pileated woodpeckers (Dryocopus pileatus) have been working the remains of an old stump by the herb beds. These photos aren't great, shot through the window screen with my phone, but they record the encounter.


These big birds, about the size of a crow, live mostly on insect grubs and larvae and are prodigious wood miners in search of a meal. If you don't see the bird, you can't miss their workings.


 

Henry's books.

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