Sometimes in late summer I won’t touch anything, not
the flower, not the blackberries
brimming in the thickets; I won’t drink
from the pond; I won’t name the birds or the trees;
I won’t whisper my own name.
– Mary Oliver, “October”
Two years ago yesterday I posted the final chapter of what I genuinely believe is the finest thing I’ve ever written. (I actually finished it on August 31st, but I consider both of these days to be equally significant since they sort of form two halves of a whole.)
I’ve mentioned this story before: I’ll Be Yours For a Song – which, by the most ridiculous fluke of life and my own bizarre head, just so happens to be a nearly 400k word piece of The Walking Dead AU fanfiction.
Yeah, I know.