Stay Strong

Words cannot express how long I have had to fight for every single smile in my life, and how difficult it has been to hold onto joy and light, thanks to crippling depression that has plagued me since childhood. Thank you to the never-ending continuation of burdens and grief. Really. Thanks. Thank you world, thank you life. I know I am dangerously close to sounding like a martyr, or maybe even a drama queen – ‘What the hell has she got to be depressed about?’ many might think – but unless you too have suffered with it, you cannot understand the agony it brings. Every day. Always. And I know there is so much I have to be thankful for, and indeed I spend every night reminding myself of this, but it is such a faint glimmer within the darkness. But a glimmer nonetheless.

And, to my dear mother, I want to apologise for all the added stress I brought you in my school days, in my teenage years, for I could not cope and I know it upset you to see me ruin myself, to fall into this unrecognisable being of burning anger. And I want to apologise for now, for still not being the daughter I wish I could be. You too have had many hardships, and right now we are both going through difficulty, and I wish I was a better, more stable person to help you somehow. Perhaps I am desperately selfish to spend my time crying and telling you how I cannot cope, burdening you, when you have had to be the strongest woman I know, raising three children alone – one of whom is disabled. You are so strong. How I look at you and think, ‘I wish I could be so wise and strong like you!’ Don’t be sad, Mum. Don’t cry. I will try to be a good daughter and friend to ease these times, though I do not know how. I wish I knew how. Maybe the knowledge of my love will do for now. And, perhaps, I should be saying all this to you in person, but we know how utterly hopeless I am at speaking my feelings aloud… Writing is my release and my solace. And so I write this, sharing with the world how wonderful I think you are. Someday, I will defeat depression once and for all, and be the girl I’m truly meant to be and the daughter I have always hoped to become.

I’ll hold your hand and we’ll scramble these rocks together, though I’m not sure how good I’ll be as support, for you have been the one to support me since forever. I’ll try, Mum. I’ll try…

Once upon a time I wrote a little rhyme… And I say this to you now, and to myself, and to anyone else out there who has silently been suffering with depression:

‘Silver moonlight in the night
shines down for all to see,
so where can the shadows hide
when even in darkness there is light?’


There is light, always. Stay strong ❤

Rise Above, Be Reborn

Here I am, running freely through Ilimoskus Valley. It is my hope to talk openly about much to do with Ilimoskus this year, for previously I had done so rather sparingly, as though I did not want to bother others with the mention of it. But, I realise now that the Ilimoskus story – the Ilimoskus world – is as much a part of me as my very breath, and to hold it in denies my heart of all its core values. So, here’s hoping for wonderful things to come out of this year!


And nor will I stay quiet about my mental health. I have a mental health problem. I am ill. And I have been for far too long, in honesty. Eight years too long. Modern society still sneers down on mental health as not being much of a problem (certainly in the UK, anyway), but truly I tell you to know that it is. It really is. Nobody asks to become ill. Do you think anyone asks for a mental illness? It is hideous, for you are trapped within your own mind, and every new step you take somehow leads you back into darkness, back into the eternal loop from which it seems impossible to escape. It is tough to get over an illness. I believe it is probably tougher to get over a mental one. The mind is a complex thing. Still! I am undergoing ‘treatment’, if you will, and I am sure I will be free eventually.

Fellow sufferers, to you I say: Please do not give up, please do not be overwhelmed. I know it is so, so hard, and there are some days you wake up and think, I cannot do this anymore, I cannot go on this way, and I know it can be tempting to do something about those feelings, but that is not the way. I know how lonely it feels. I know how forsaken life seems. But please do not give up. There is a way out of the darkness, and you find the light by seeking help, by forever seeking your inner strength. You will pull through. You can and you will.

Of course, finding your inner strength and clambering out of the darkness does not dig up roses, but rather it churns up thick mud and thorns spit in your face. But those thorns can only blind you if you let them, and the mud can only suck you under if you stand still. I don’t claim to have all the answers, of course I don’t – no one does – but I do know that finding the beauty and wonder in the world, in the tiny little things, allows the sun to shine upon you, and that is precious. I don’t know why bad things happen to good people, but I do know that the most beautiful people in the world are the ones who rise above their gloom and grab the sun for their own, shining its light – as well as theirs – upon the rest of us. A special grace and power comes to those who rise above the darkness. And their hearts, once so scarred and hopeless, turn into diamonds. Unbreakable and so, so beautiful.

But anyway… Enough of such sober matters. (Just don’t give up. Mental illness or no.)


I am here to talk about my precioussssssssss **gollum!-gollum!** That is, Ilimoskus. Lots to tell, lots to tell!

ONE) This is the most important, and so it comes first. I should have blurted this out ages ago, but, you know, I’ve been busy planting flowers in my mud. THIS POST <<- announced that my book, Ilimoskus: Times of Old, was no longer available for purchase, due a blumin’ publishing nightmare. BUT!! No more is this so! Back at the beginning of December (or maybe even the end of November, actually, I can’t remember) I was told that the book had been picked up by another company, and, thusly, it is back for the world to read. Hoorah, eh? So. If you would like to read the story, know now that you can. Jolly times.

TWO) I say ‘jolly times’, and indeed it is, but I was actually slightly miffed by this because I wanted to re-edit the manuscript before I put it back out to the world. Obviously that has not happened. Never mind. I’ll do it at some point. I am still re-editing Times of Old at the moment; I’ve cut some bits out, and I’ve made some alterations, such as the school uniform design for Anglarne Hill Independent School in the human world (which includes altering the colour of the house of Danebury, if anyone has read it and cares… It is now green, not red). I have also changed the little ‘dedication’ bit right at the beginning of the book… In my work-in-progress Book 2, the ‘dedication’ page is not a dedication at all, but rather a poem, and I have re-done Book 1’s to be of the same nature, and telling the same ‘story’, I guess. Because it might be a century before the new version is out, I shall share the new poem/dedication for Times of Old with you now:

‘A fire flares within a heart

as stone shields around;

in stormy skies it falls apart

into a sea where dreams so drown.

Can it see in the dark?

How does it stay so strong?

From where does its new life spark?

Do the depths help it belong?

The darkness beckons, olden one,

but you can see the dawn;

let these times go by – be done! –

for you will be reborn.’

THREE) The last thing to mention is a little something I have planned, which should be a treat for those who like the story. I had previously done this little sketch of the four ilyorz (or, in English, the four elements: fire, earth, air, water):


But, long have I wanted to do more sketches of the Ilimoskus world and the characters in the story. And so, whenever I find the time, I have been trying to work on my drawing skills to do all my elemental friends justice (as within my artistic capabilities). My plan is to draw the most significant characters in the trilogy (which is a ridiculous number, I’ll have you know) and share them with the world on a new page on my website, in a gallery of some sort, with a sentence or two describing them. I thought it would be a nice thing to do! It will obviously take some time to draw them all, so I’ll upload the images as and when and subsequently announce it on my Facebook page and/or Twitter. Or maybe on here, actually. Who knows. But, given I haven’t even started creating the new page on my website yet, it’ll take a while until it’s sorted. I’ll keep you updated.

But, I also thought – assuming I find my sketches of the Ilimoskus at least tolerable – that I might create another page for them specifically, going into more depth about the four ilyorz (elements) and their clothing style. Because why not, I think you’ll find. It’s interesting, honestly 😉 You can see it slightly in the sketch above, but that isn’t really showing it very well. And, not only do they have different clothing styles depending on their ilyor, but they also have different clothing styles depending on their leoges (another strange word, yes: see here for clarification). There is great depth to the Ilimoskus world indeed!

And hey, maybe if I get really carried anyway, I’ll draw all the Ilimoskus creatures, too 😉 (which I’ve actually already done, just not very well since they are all in my rough notebooks).

So, yes! New things, new times, new hope. It is my aim this year to be kinder to the Ilimoskus story, and to be kinder to myself regarding it. I am telling you, I have been vicious to myself – and kind of vicious to my elementals as well (sorry, my friends) – over the past four years or whatever. Ilimoskus is a labour of love, not some hideous punishment I must endure, and so I have come to realise that this kind attitude is the one I must keep, despite external pressures or what have you. And, in being kinder, my love for it will ever soar, and I will travel to great heights with it, I am sure.

But I shall leave you now with two sketches I have already done of some characters within the Ilimoskus story. The main human characters!


This is Anastasia (right) and Elizabeth (left) Gott. They are sisters – Anastasia being the eldest. Here they are modelling the newly designed Anglarne Hill school uniform. Elizabeth (or ‘Lizzie’) is the main, main human protagonist within the story.


This is Demetri (left) and Leon (right) Carter. They are non-identical twins! They too are modelling the newly designed Anglarne Hill school uniform (don’t you just love the trousers?). These two are lovely characters, if I may say so 😉 – especially Demetri (or ‘Dem’, as he is often called)!


Fun, pointless fact for you all: Within this post, I have said that ilyorz means ‘elements’ in English. This is not actually true. That is just the easiest translation. The Ilimoskus word for the four elements of nature is rather ilimoss.

Thank you for reading, everyone. I know my posts can often be quite lengthy, and so I deeply appreciate anyone who takes the time out of their day to read my words.

Be well and true,

and rise above the beckoning darkness

to be reborn with your diamond heart

so to dwell amongst the stars

for evermore.


Secrets from the Wondersong, and Dreamings of a Tree

Secrets from the Wondersong, and Dreamings of a Tree

© Jennifer K. Marsh 2014


A little bird perched on a low branch hanging from a tree within a woodland, but this little bird sang no song and made no tweet; instead, she puffed a sigh, and so her wings drooped by her side.

The tree upon which this bird was perched opened his eyes, awoken by this sound. “My, my!” exclaimed the tree, “was that a sigh I heard? That is not the noise the world wishes to hear from a little bird.” He yawned away his drowsiness, shaking his leaves here and there, and gazed kindly at her. “Whatever is the matter, dear little one? If you so wish to tell, I shall listen to your every word till all your woe is gone.”

The bird forced a smile, as strong as she may, touched by the trees tender ways. “I didn’t mean to wake you, Mister Tree – you seemed to be dreaming merrily. I wonder, if you would, could you share your dream with me?” She bobbed her tail feathers, giddy at the mere thought.

“Hmm,” the tree pondered. “And wonder why a little bird may wish to know my dream.”

“Trees are ever so wise,” replied she. “Surely, through your dreams, you have a thing or two to teach me.”

The tree smiled. “Why, dear little one, that depends: what is it you yearn to learn?”

The bird sat in thought for a moment before sighing once more.

“Again with the sigh!” said the tree, concerned for the bird. “Dear little one, I am half expecting you to cry. No such tears do I want to see!”

“My heart is heavy, Mister Tree,” she told him, “and it bears me down in flight. How am I to soar free when such misery dampens my wings? Can you teach me how to fly again?”*

The tree absorbed the bird’s words, mulling them over with great consideration. Finally, he chuckled, yet the bird was perplexed by this: how was this an amusing situation? “Dear little one, you fret so needlessly – I cannot teach you how to fly, for you already know! But do not let a heavy heart hinder where your spirit goes. Although it may be hard to carry woe upon your wings, you can still fly high and reach for brighter things.”

The bird hung her head, weighed down by it all. “But I am small, and I am weak: I cannot carry this heavy load, for I’m too weary in defeat!”

The tree gazed upon her with eyes of earnest care, and so tender was the look that it helped to ward away most of the bird’s despair. “My little feathered friend, let me tell you of my dream: I dreamed a dream of future woe that fluttered down lamenting so, and how funny it should be that this woe was, in fact, a little bird! She came to me telling of the heavy heart she bore inside, and ever so concerned was she that she’d forgotten how to fly. And so I told this little one a secret known by all the trees, passed down by the sun from ancient days of wondersong**: ‘Heavy hearts are full of love! Did you not know? That is why they weigh so much, but aren’t they such a burden-load! Love for all that they see near, and love for those away from here; love for themselves, though warped through doubt, and love they did not even know about! ‘Tis a blessing high to feel such deep emotion, yet I know it can often feel like a curse in full devotion. How do I know? I see your eyes ask! Do you not wonder why the trees never move? The heaviest hearts of all are found in the woods, for trees’ hearts are laden leaden with the love from the core of the world, and our roots burrow down to it so we may hug it close! But little birds do not have roots, and thus, are not confined; may you never forget that you are free throughout the journey of your life!’ And so this little bird then pondered all I said and wondered whether all her doubt came solely from her head, for if the trees so mighty wise can smile with such heavy hearts, there was no reason why she couldn’t, too, as her heart wasn’t destined for gloom – it merely needed a lighter mind to help it shine on true. And so the bird chirped a song and thanked me for my time, and flew away so merrily and perfectly benign.” Wearing a grin with an attentive eye, he leant closer to her and whispered, “I wonder, dear little one, whether you may learn from the wondersong!”

The bird ruffled her feathers, a-flustered by all the tree had said, but deeply considered everything she thought that he had meant. “Is it true?” she finally asked. “The trees never move because their roots are bound to all the love of the world?” She paused for a moment, and the tree remained silent, so as to let her mind explore her thoughts. Suddenly, she splayed out her wings, bursting with verve. “Why, it must be true!” she affirmed to herself, “for how else could the trees care and give so much for all who live? How you give your lives and freedom for all others! Why, it makes me smile just at the thought!”

The tree chuckled. “And so you should smile, my little friend, for you are blessed with so many joys! Such a beautiful little creature you are! Why sigh when you can sing? Why look down when you can fly high into the sky? For you will feel such joy again if, to the world, some joy you bring! How the world so loves to hear the sound of the birdly serenade, and how the world so loves to see the sight of their flightful escapades!”

“You are right, Mister Tree, of course you are!” said the bird, with a glistening in her eyes that told of new-found hope. “If troubles I so have, why not sing them away? If fears drag me down, why not fly above them?” She gave a tweet so blissful. “Thank you, Mister tree, thank you! You have helped me see the sun again.”

“Dear little one,” the tree started in a tone so kindly, “that is what I am here for. Just remember: the sun is always there, beaming down his merry ways to lend you a smile on your darkest days. Now go: be free, my feathered friend, and make the most of your day!”

With a fond chirp farewell, the bird fluttered from the tree’s branch and up above him, and the tree waved his branches in the wind on her departure.

The tree watched her fly away until she had left his view, and then, with a small smile planted on his face, he released a long, contented exhale and snuggled himself back into his slumber, falling into dreamings while in wait for the time he was to wake again.


(that’s Kurpian for THE END, just so you know)

A little while back, I finally ventured out the house on a dear old walk through the woodland for over an hour and a half. It was hardly a gentle slope back into walking, though (quite literally), for my local woodland walks are actually through the most ridiculously steep hills you can imagine, whereby your leg muscles gradually go on strike and your lungs are like, “GIVE ME A MINUTE, GOOD HEAVENS.”  It was wonderful, though, of course it was, and after all the toil I was treated to the most glorious view up at ‘The Beacon’, I believe it’s called, where the light broke through the grey clouds onto the distant shoreline below (to see this, refer to my Instagram which you can find by clicking over at the side of this blog somewhere –>>)

The photo used at the beginning of this post is one I took while walking down one of the flatter trails. It is slightly blurred, yes, because my phone’s camera is the most temperamental pile of [insert profanity] ever. We fall out on a regular basis.

This is only the second short story I’ve ever done for my blog, would you believe? I’ve been hating on Ilimoskus’ Book 2 for a couple of weeks now and cannot work on it (story of my life), so I wasted my time writing this instead. Find the message within, dear people, for what is writing without a message, hmm? I think there’s a little bird within us all. Don’t you?

I have used ‘dear’ far too much in this post, I feel. WORD OF THE WEEK.

(It took me about five thousand years to name this piece of writing. I hate titles sometimes. And what I finally came up with was a long load of nonsense. Wondersong? Dreamings? <- Why is dreamings not a word? This is a serious question. It sounds far more enchanting than ‘dreams’. And wondersong, by the way, is an age – a period of time – in my mind [imagination] that flows through many pieces of my writing and musics etc – almost like the beginning of the world, when all aspects of nature obtained the secrets, knowledge and teachings that make them so special.)

*…Can you teach me how to fly again?” – I was so listening to this when I was writing this short piece. (Side note: I approve of the man being out in the woodland in this video. Not that my approval means anything. Still. I approve.)

**wondersong, dreamings, burden-load, birdly, flightful – In case you hadn’t noticed, with Ilimoskus, my poetry and other writing larks, I like making up/playing with words. Because why not.

Until we meet again,

I fare thee well.

And if you wake a tree,

may you listen carefully…

– Jenny

One Year on…

I feel as though over the past few months I have quite neglected blogging, although, this evidently is not the case, given I have indeed been posting throughout that time – not really any less than usual, either. I have just felt dreadfully detached from it over that time. It has been more of a chore for me to come on here and post since May. Perhaps this is because I have been bogged down by workload, or perhaps it is because I have needed time to myself. Who can say?

A couple of months back I said that I was going to start being more creative with my blog, which is still the intention, but this post is an aside – one I need to type.

For the past two months or so, I have been feeling unwell: drained, lousy, run-down. Perhaps this is another factor as to why I have felt so distant from blogging. I had progressively been getting worse over time, until finally, a few days ago, it all came to a head and now I am quite patently a rather unwell individual. I was so bad over the weekend that I didn’t quite know what to do with myself, but on Monday I saw a doctor, and fear not, fellow WordPress friends, I am now on the up. Turns out I’ve had a long-running infection in my ears for all that time, and it finally flared up into quite a severe one which made me wholly unwell, as opposed to just having uncomfortable ears. So, now I have to take absolutely massive antibiotics which look more like horse capsules, they’re that big, and I have wrapped a scarf around my ears for days on end because, somehow, that helps to relieve the pain. I don’t know.

But let’s get to the point of this post.


Today is something of an anniversary for me, a significant cycle of time that has passed by – or a daiamel, as the Ilimoskus would call it. It has been a year to the very day…

On 5th August 2013, 19:15, I had my accident, which ultimately broke my heart more than it ‘broke’ my physical body. And that’s saying something, really, given the state of my face after the incident. It took me about two months to totally, 100% recover – physically, that is. Emotionally, I still think I am still in the process of having deep wounds stitched up.

But oh, does it not make you ponder? Why should I have been so lucky to have not a hint of abnormality upon my face? How did I get away with that?

Is it dangerous to ask such questions after you’ve experienced such a trauma? Perhaps. But then, I still have a life to question when I so easily could not have, and that is a blessing.

What are you left with after such a trauma?

What physical scarring do you have? What emotional scarring do you have? What do I have?

Physically, I got away with it, as I said. I have a slight indentation on the bridge of my nose where it was cracked, but no one would ever notice this unless they were a nose doctor or if they stared at my face/nose close enough to finally see it, but I would most certainly scream at and push away anyone who ever attempted such a thing. My jaw took most of the beating, though, and to this day I still have problems with it. I am likely to for the rest of my life. It is frustrating, but then, is it not a small price to pay for being alive? You cannot see this issue with my jaw, though; if a stranger looked at me, they would never know I ever underwent such hell.

Or does it tell through the eyes?

Emotionally, it is a different story. Emotionally, I bleed – as much as that five hour waterfall I had coming from me that evening 😉 Accidents leave you more emotionally damaged, it is true. Although my physical person may not have any scars, my heart sure does. Since the accident, I do not like letting people near my face, and I most certainly do not allow anyone to touch it. Not because it hurts, you understand, but because it is more of a conditioned reaction. It is almost as though I do not trust people, that they will hurt me if they touch my face, which makes no sense, given the accident had nothing to do with people, but there we go.

But why did it hurt me so? It hurt me so because I lost my dearest friend. My gentle girl. I loved her so very, very much.

I haven’t spoken properly about this accident since it happened, and I don’t know if I will ever sit there and tell someone all the details. I don’t know if I will ever want to. I have had far too many unfortunate circumstances occur in my life that make my heart cry blood whenever I stop to think about them, and so speaking such things aloud rips my heart out completely. People always say that talking about it makes things better, but I disagree. For me, not talking about it is how I heal. And that is how I’ve always lived my life, since childhood.

There is only one thing I will have to tell out loud, someday, or else I will never move on. But it is a waiting game, and I have always known that. That time will show itself when it is ready; though, the thought terrifies me, all the same.

But, you see, I don’t need to tell people my problems because there is one who already knows them without having uttered a word.

Physically, this accident hurt so much. Emotionally, this accident hurt so much.

But what about spiritually?

Why, oh why, did this have to happen? I have often wondered. Why indeed. But who am I to question that? We all walk our path – we all go where we are meant to – and for whatever reason, this needed to happen to me. God knows why. I’m not quite so sure. I haven’t worked it out yet. I haven’t quite worked out why half the things have happened to me in my life, but they hold their purpose, even though I do not understand.

“Like the river is bound to its flow, life travels where it is meant to go.” – So says our wise friend, Gnotsu, in Times of Old.

There is undoubtedly a comfort in letting yourself drift with the river, but just because you drift, that doesn’t mean you are lifeless – in fact, it is quite the opposite; if you accept your fate to drift with life, you have time to enjoy and appreciate all the beauty and simplicity it offers, and even see the light in the shadows, but, if you spend your time fighting against the current, where does your attention lie? Certainly not on the world around you. It lies on the current, and nothing more.

And so I drift, accepting that this accident happened and that I lost my sweetest girl because of it. But accepting still hurts.

But maybe it was my fault, somewhere along the line. If you pray to see the way, yet sew your eyes shut, God will have no choice but to rip your eyes open. And that will hurt. A lot. There will be much blood and many tears. If you pray for a clearer mind, yet keep walking through the fog, God will have no choice but to hurl you from it, and you will land most painfully and undignified. But He only does it because He cares, because He loves you more than you will ever comprehend.

This accident caused many more wounds on my already wounded heart, but, over time, these gaping wounds have been stitched up, slowly healing. And who holds the needle, who bears the thread? Why, it is He, of course. I may not talk, but it is in silence that I talk to Him, and He is the grand power, the ultimate healer.

In this life I’ve lived, why have I suffered so? So that I can give, while learning how to G R O W.


“You did not ask for this life, this life asked for you.” – So says a character in the upcoming Book 2.

There is a path waiting for each of us to tread, and our souls are summoned to it. It is our path alone, for there is no one who can walk it better.


I will always see the words

that you sewed

on my heart

These are some words from a poem I once wrote.

What are these words?

Faith. Hope. Love. 


Thank you for reading this. May peace always dwell within you.

Orate Door is a poem I wrote specifically about my accident. It is probably the most personally emotional poem I have ever shared on this blog – that and Darling Moon, which I wrote a few months after Ornate Door. Both poems are there, should you like to read them.

I have had a highly creative post planned for weeks and weeks now, but I have not found it within myself to even attempt to create it. Even so, know that it is planned, and that one day you shall see it. Besides that, blog inspiration has left me, so I don’t know when you will next see interesting posts from me.

Beyond a Dream

Music ‘Beyond’ by Marc Jungermann <- check out his other work

Beyond a Dream

Beyond a dream you came to me, lifting me above the world into celestial stars. On the edge of the sky we walked, between the black and blue, peering down at evergreen valleys and ancient hills, at flowing streams, distant moors and coloured meadows, all while the wind sang us an everlasting song. What a beautiful land home to my hope, flying free, beyond me dreams!

If I awaken to reality, would you reach me there? Would I see your reflection on the icy sea where the cliffs forever stand proud? Would you ascend above the horizon in gold and silver light, in warmth to bless all of life? Would I hear the song of the wind upon the breeze, or would its sound be lost to me?

Beyond a dream you beckon me, calling me back home. Beyond a dream you wait for me, and I will be there with you soon.

I will come forth and wander across lands afar and ponder amongst the trees who stand in watch over me, and lost in thought I shall fly into the sky and fade away with the light that has stayed true for all of time. Is the glory golden beyond the sea, beyond a dream? One day I will come to see.

Will I find you when I fall asleep, beyond a dream?

writing © Jennifer K. Marsh 2014


‘Flowering Field’, image from Pulsar Ecard

The four seasons are equally as important as one another, for each holds its own beauty, and all are necessary and essential for nature’s cycle.

Spring is such a pretty season. The world comes alive with colour and dance and the sound of nature’s song. You can hear the bees buzzing on the wind and the birds serenading the world, and you can see the flowers emerging from hiding and the lambs springing through fresh green grass, all the while the strengthening sun kisses your face and gives you that much needed warm hug after the trying period of winter, whispering, “I’m back,” as it does so. And when you cast your eyes to the hills, you can see that nature has used them as its canvas, splashing paint across every inch, and the sky above is that gorgeous baby blue.

The seasons are very significant to the Ilimoskus since they are, of course, deeply entwined with nature itself, and because we are in spring, I thought I would share with you exactly what spring means to them.

Natsena (Spring)

In the Kurpian language, the word for spring is ‘natsena’ (pronounced: “nat-seh-nah”)

Spring is the time of ‘blooming nature’. It is the season of rebirth and the time to move forward after the arduous winter period. It is the symbol of patience, hope and determination, for golden times will come to be, yet while they wait, they have the privilege to observe nature’s sweet awakening. In the Ilimoskus world, spring is actually the time of their ‘new year’, if you will, and this is due to what it symbolises: as winter is the time of death, spring is the time of birth, for nature – and the world – is reborn.

Spring is said to be the season of the Humitt-kus (the earth folk) due the growing and blossoming plant life that comes with this time in nature’s cycle.


See here for the other seasons:


– Autumn