β€œThe alders were moving aside, yes, making way for the shaggy goat with the sunburned face, and the legless youth who rode on his back, strapped into a dark leather harness. He wore a crown of horns. Where the sunlight broke through the trees and touched the youth, it made the delicate blond hair that covered his naked body shine like wheat.”

Hail Pan!

Written about the creative process; critique of psychoanalysis.

Read for free in Inner Worlds.

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So Slowly Goes the Day (excerpt)