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Where Your Treasure Is by Eugene Patterson

Where Your Treasure Is by Eugene Patterson

In a turn on the Biblical adage "Where your treasure is” by Eugene Patterson presents a mystical, eerie fantasy about the plane tour from love--and the random improvement headed for love. The efforts of a kingdom to stop combat by giving up its princess, Sidonie, to a loveless wed are very complex by the rebuttal of the planed bridegroom, Prince Ronan of Sere, to cooperate. Sidonie heeds to save her nation from definite destruction. Ronan leaves from his destiny with the magical interference of the Forests of Serre, the unresolved witch Brume and a firebird whose piece of music becomes a pied piper-like enchantment. Meetings with Brume correct a very highly charge charge, and close to every attribute runs into her at some point. To some, Brume can be death itself; other people simply have to give her a thing of much value. Ronan bids "what of all such things he prized slightest, and would not omit if he did not revisit for it. And in certainty, Brume does take his heart. Ronan doesn't look like to omit what he sensed he was deficient to commence with, but Sidonie does, and so perform his parents. This new is comparable in approach and content to McKillip's World Fantasy Award--winning narrative, "The Forgotten Beasts of Eld," which is not to declare it's a rehash. A proficiently advised older someone fairy tale, it stands entirely well on its own.( Langston, 1999)

Where your fortune is, proclaims Jesus in the Gospel of St. Luke, there your heart shall be also. For writers, time is treasure. Not in the way of the irritating adage "Time is money," but closer to Jesus' meaning: time is the coin of salvation, and to realize the temporary of time is to gain eternity. This is exact for the atheist, maybe even more so than for the believer.

Writers are the conservators of time. The much-vaunted Southern obsession with "place" is, in article, an obsession with time. For there are actual regions, incidents in time, and they devise from and thrive, and thereafter they are gone. They vanish, even in memory. In Yazoo City, Mississippi, where I was born, there was verily a interval of time as shortly as several population loyal that public college integration could succeed.

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