A Time Of Season

About the Book

Until his encounter with a mysterious old man that he knew only as Anon, Vash Rance had been as a derelict ship, drifting upon a sea of strange occurrences. He had lived as a mental wanderer, a dreamer, and although calling himself a poet, he had sailed from one experience to another without thinking they held meta-meaning. Then Anon had compelled him to look deeper into his life, and in contemplating the "why me?" of his having been privy to certain events, Vash had seen that a poet´s gift is not that he feels more, but that much more befalls him to feel.

About the Author

I suppose that for some, the ultimate luxury is to acquire one's dream house, or car. Although for me, the ultimate luxury is knowing that like a book, destiny has a plot, and as the plot of my destiny thickens, I reflect on growing up in Perris California, which was then a country town of enormous granite boulders, tumble weeds, rattle snakes, and pitch black nights. A town where every summer, as if by magic, smiling, double sided, plastic potato men statues would appear at the base of all three downtown stop signs, as well as at the only traffic signal, announcing the annual Perris Potato Festival. The house where I lived in Perris was a two story, serene, thought provoking place, set quite a ways back from a large front yard, ringed by towering eucalyptus trees. They swayed back and forth, in stormy weather, as though sweeping clouds from the sky, which gave a movie set feel to an eerie backhouse, full of old musty clothing, medicinal tasting candy and boxed things, including a book that I believe was about freemasonry. Showing stick men drawings, enigmatic hand signals, myriad levels of ascension, it deeply affected me, and often, I regret having tossed that inscrutable book. As a student, I sucked, prompting a teacher to remark, "What's with you, Charles? You sit all day like a big fat cabbage and never say anything." Unknown to me then, I was waiting for A Time of Season – to do my talking.