About the Author

Katerina is hopelessly addicted to stories. She loves to experience the stories of others and to create her very own. After all, all she is is a story.


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Ruins in the Pine Barrens

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April 20, 2017 Estell Manor Park THE RUINS OF a munitions plant lay hidden near the bank of a river in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey. The plant, now only a broken shell of crumbling brick walls with empty windows and doorways, had once been filled with activity—as well as explosives—during the Great War. A century later, nature has reclaimed her land—but the memory of the past yet remained, ingrained in each leftover brick of the former plant. The nearby river appeared completely ordinary, flowing calm and smooth and blue—but, oh, what it must have witnessed over the decades, the centuries! The river watched as the munitions plant was built, brick by brick; the river watched as workers labored to birth deadly, unforgiving weapons; the river watched as the building fell into decay and the woods slowly but inexorably asserted their ground once more. . . . The ruins of a powerhouse and, beside it, a still-bubbling artisan well kept the former munitions ...
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LONDON: Act III

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March 6, 2017 TODAY, THE WANDERER was going to Kensington Gardens. She could hardly believe that, less than a year since she had first read J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens , she was going to the place where, in the world of fiction, a baby Peter Pan was raised by birds and experienced his first adventures; the place where J.M. Barrie himself had wandered through; the very place that his brilliant mind had transformed into a magical world filled with fairies and talking birds and joyful children, a little Neverland in the middle of the sprawling city of London. For her, it was nothing short of a dream come true. The weather was gorgeous: no heavy coat necessary. Clouds rolled through the blue sky without threatening a drop of rain. The flowers were already in bloom, and even though it was only the first week of March, spring was in the air. "The Serpentine begins near here. It is a lovely lake, and there is a drowned forest ...
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Weeding

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June 1, 2017 The wanderer's backyard I try to keep my garden of optimism neat, but pesky pessimistic weeds make it a grueling feat. The vines they come a-creeping ere my hands have left the ground, smothering my flowers every time I turn around. I plant new seeds and watch them as they wither and decay; I prune my plants with care and sigh as each leaf falls away. I dig and dig but ne'ertheless the weeds invade once more, till eventually I fear I'll be consumed by this wretched chore. And then one day a bird alights beside me in my garden: it pecks and plucks the rotten weeds and my flowers bloom again. In other news, Phillop the lopsided willow has almost reached the ground, and the chipmunks are merrily larking about as usual. Life prevails, weeds or no.
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