January
It’s a balmy 23 degrees here in the mountains of North Carolina today (the high) as I stare at my emerald matcha tea, imagining the first colors of spring. Oh, I’m not complaining. I moved here to escape the swelteringly humid days of Florida that I endured for too long. And I love snow… for a while. Then I long for the warmth of the sun on my body, and the chirr of the crickets mingling with the chorus of spring peepers outside my open window, lulling me to dreamland.
There’s just something so magical about the changing seasons—a gentle reminder of the passing of time, Nature’s clock. January, especially, feels less like a beginning and more like a deep breath held beneath the earth. A quiet threshold after the busy holiday season. Nothing appears to be happening, yet everything is preparing to become something else.
This is the season from which I write.
My stories are usually born in winter—not in the bright flourish of spring, but in the long listening of dark mornings and early sunsets, when the world grows hushed enough for old voices to be heard again. It is here, in this stillness, that Ena first stepped back into my life. Here that Lucian whispered of forgotten prophecies. Here that Aiden learned to carry both magic and crown in the same fragile hands.
And it is here, in this threshold month, that their journey came full circle.
TRUTH, the final book in The Evensong Enchantments, was written in this same spirit of listening. It is a story about what awakens when we dare to hear the quiet voice beneath fear, beneath doctrine, beneath the long winter of forgetting.
If you find yourself longing for stories that carry more than escape—stories that feel like stepping into a sacred forest at dusk, where ancient truths still breathe—I would be honored if you would walk that path beside me within the pages of The Evensong Enchantments.
May this magical season be a portal for you, too. ✨
With gratitude and winter light,
Helyn
P.S. The image for the post is one of my paintings, titled January.