Weyward, by Emilia Hart

I finished this book last night and this morning I saved an ant who had crawled up into my kitchen sink.  Violet and her striped-leg spider, Goldie, are entirely to blame.  Normally there would have been a swift death by drowning, but thanks to this book, I carefully led the ant onto a paper towel and deposited it onto a slender blade of browning grass in the backyard.  Now the ant can die from Pennsylvania November cold, but not by my hand.

I’ll be back to screaming and smacking spiders by next week, I predict, but it says something that a book could make me at least pause when it comes to the natural world.  Weyward made me want to climb a tree again, take a nap on a soft patch of grass warmed by sunlight, breathe deep the scents of flora and fauna all around me.  It is a shame it’s nearly winter; I feel like I read the book during the wrong season.  On the other hand, this does seem like a witchy time of year.  And yes, there is magic to be found in the book, but of the sort that blends beautifully with the plot and genre.  Let’s just say I’ll never look at cows in quite the same way…

(Also, please know that there is certainly a trigger warning that comes with the story, but Hart handles the scene and the aftermath with grace and authorial experience.  Still.  Be careful.)

Read the book to be reminded of the nature-loving child you hopefully were.  Read it to possibly discover this side of yourself.  And read it to connect to the feminine perspective that I believe exists, regardless of gender, in all of us, and all around us.

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