Saturday, February 20, 2016

A Poem by Frey Pickard


tiny see, so pale, so light
I cannot feel it in my palm
weighing less than a breeze
I marvel at the potential for existence
this single dry seed
buried in dark compost
decays, dies, yet transforms
into one plant, flowering, fruiting
until I harvest rubies
amongst emeralds;
but for now I water the medium
that encases it
and wait for the miracle of life
to begin

Freya Pickard doesn't write about imaginary worlds; she writes about imaginative ones.  These are worlds that could be real in a parallel universe or another time dimension.  She does not promote escapism; instead she takes her readers into a refreshing place to that they return to their normal lives feeling strengthened and renewed.  Freya's first novel, Dragonscale Leggings, is a parody of the genre she loves best; fantasy.  In it, she gently pokes fun at the Arthurian legends, the common concepts of dragon slayers and dragons and how they should (or shouldn't) behave.

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