About the Author

I suppose that for some, the ultimate luxury is to acquire one's dream house, or car. Although for me, the ultimate luxury is knowing that like a book, destiny has a plot, and as the plot of my destiny thickens, I reflect on growing up in Perris California, which was then a country town of enormous granite boulders, tumble weeds, rattle snakes, and pitch black nights. A town where every summer, as if by magic, smiling, double sided, plastic potato men statues would appear at the base of all three downtown stop signs, as well as at the only traffic signal, announcing the annual Perris Potato Festival.

The house where I lived in Perris was a two story, serene, thought provoking place, set quite a ways back from a large front yard, ringed by towering eucalyptus trees. They swayed back and forth, in stormy weather, as though sweeping clouds from the sky, which gave a movie set feel to an eerie backhouse, full of old musty clothing, medicinal tasting candy and boxed things, including a book that I believe was about freemasonry. Showing stick men drawings, enigmatic hand signals, myriad levels of ascension, it deeply affected me, and often, I regret having tossed that inscrutable book.

As a student, I sucked, prompting a teacher to remark, "What's with you, Charles? You sit all day like a big fat cabbage and never say anything."

Unknown to me then, I was waiting for A Time of Seasonto do my talking.

Charles HunnaHustla