As 2012 slips into the space haunted by yesterdays, a strong wind sweeps across Melrose Mountain, rattling this octagonal house. The camellia by my bedside has produced six strong, white blossoms, and I'm glad to have hauled it indoors, protected from the Full Frost Moon. Even as a little girl, I knew that sometimes people turned into their very worst selves, but despite the werewolves' tales, the full moon meant protection, a certain soft glow of ethereal energy that strengthened my own feral resilience. Tonight I simply feel glad, counting my blessings, one by one. Ripples turn to waves on the lake as the darkness blankets me.
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