The pros of job of book portal reviewer – free books.
the cons of job of book portal reviewer – … free books.

I have so many already that I can’t touch the ones I bought myself.

My night fills slowly with day.
My bones grow sprouts and bud with green vines.
My blood becomes blue as a clear sky.

I change.
It comes.

[ happiness is not given, but sometimes we are gifted with it, when we really need it ]

My dreams are restless, as always at the beginning of spring. My whole being is restless, ravenous. I can’t find a safe space for myself, I wander between clouds and meadows, between underworld and sacred groves.

I dream about blood and end and about the beginning. It leaves me all over the place. I wished the sun reach its point at the top of the skies and leave me be.

You should come faster, vesna, as I can’t wait to spread my black wings and fly over the blooming gardens and green woods.

I want to breathe again.

So with dreams, come fruits and moss. And darkest of nights filled with ashen flame.

Warning: sensual content…

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be glad the ents march at your orthanc
spilling the forest rage over your white robes

be glad the ravens predict miss fortune
turning her cracked back on you

be glad the wind carries dust into your eyes
and grass worms into your flesh

fairy rage untamed like ocean waves
casting enchantment on the spot that hurts most

be glad
be glad, sweet mortal
be glad for little blessings
that may disappear by the wave of my hand

Your lavender reminds me of witches’ brew, a hen leg house, with herbs hanging from the ceiling, to engulf the visitors with their forest spell – first to welcome me at deep night and offer me an archer’s tea.

Your gold shines like will-o-wisps; swallowing darkness with fangs bathed in glittering ichor.

Your green is a color of deep woods, darkened by fey magic, lighted by beams of sun among upper branches – a familiar feeling of being right where I belong.

Your soil-rich hazel and beige is like a cinnamon bitterness and touch of tree bark – a home safety for a wolf beast.

My soul is painted green and black, a darkness that swallows light, but allows yours in.

We are witches’ familiars, spellbound creatures, so difficult to track, when they disappear in silent shadows of the overgrowth.

Thank you for being an archer to my hunter, Ryan.

Curse https… 36 dollars for removal of “danger” which doesn’t exists, and no one even gives me private information on here. In dreams, in nightmares, in mirages. I am not a rich company, which oozes money. I ooze only lack of food and lack of medical care. Exuse the ugly information that my site is not safe… I simply can’t afford the cost of prolonging.

And now I go to write an angry fae vent.

We all have little tempations. We all have our silly little secrets that we love to hide but are so close to our hearts, that we will never deny them before ourselves.

My secret these day is… (which stops becoming a secret right now):

This game, where you can become an acient egyptian god (oh, Anpu…), is life stealer. Hour thief. A dangerous addiction.

Everyone who even partially knows me, knows as well that I dislike Christmas with a passion – for me the end of the year is bathed in snow, wind and forest dwelling and celebrating sun and moon cycle – not Santas and family gatherings. I parted ways with my family long ago and don’t intent to rebuild the never-extisting bond.

I am glad the joyful time passed. Now, as I have a tiny tiny vacations, I can read as much as I can – therefore I got a glass of mulled wine, sat in the warm chair (fluffy!) and am reading… During the joyful time I read four books, four wondrous worlds joined my own.

So… even if I don’t like Christmas…. I found something worthy to remember. I hope my readers too. 2023 comes! Hide your cats, hide your witches and hope for better!

Shake the snow from your cape and enter the tavern called a Next Year.

Snow.

So thick that could be a white pine honey. So nostalgic, that could be a bottled memory.
Best things in my life happened during winter. I am creature of snow, breathing easier, when chill nips at my nose.

I am sure that this winter something good happens. Even if world falls down, even if bad overcomes the good, I sense a change.

Maybe t’s my own winter-enchanted mind. But as long as I have white feathers between my fingers, I wait.

And dream.