(31 Eorgaen 5114: The Landing)
Dear Mother and Father,
As the old year pauses for its last reflection, I am nervously facing down things I set into motion on a whim which also culminate tonight. Do not groan or worry, none of it is dire. You will hopefully chuckle.
I just finished a new song and invited everyone I knew to come and hear it in the hour before the new year falls. I was ever so excited about it, it just seemed like such a good idea. Nerves set in last night long before I even thought of sleep.
I cannot wait to sing this song for you both, for my Aunties. The Dreaming Tree is speaking into my heart, my dreams. This is the first tale I will share of it. It is the Legend of the Winter’s Rose. You know it well, and the same dearness of it makes me all the more nervous. I hope that the people I am able to share it with will learn all the nuances, history, and meaning of the legend.
But only time will tell if I have succeeded or failed.
I will be performing it on my new harp, a Solstice gift from a dear friend. Oh, Mother, the harp! I wept when I saw it, making the man think something was wrong. Go ahead, chuckle, you know my tears fall easily when touched. (and have warned me oft to get control of them.) So I might understand a bit more why that would have been a good skill to have at a moment like that … it is still not something I have learned.
The harp itself is beautiful. I am still learning it, but it is expressive, pure, and mysterious. I am ever so sure it is wiser than I am. I begin to live for the day that it will reveal its name to me. For now, I pick up small bits of its personality from time to time. Hopefully the harp will learn me and learn to trust me. I think we have such a wonderful future together once we get past that hurdle.
I am going to get this letter sent and then fuss with my hair, to see if I can tame it into something presentable for tonight.
I miss you SO much,
Love,
Luxie
