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Marti Healy Books

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“Cian, the ancient one, looked upon the spirit that was crouched and shimmering before him. The moon slid peacefully across the bay and came to rest under his outstretched feet. He sat absolutely still and listened fondly to the voices of the forest that whispered and sang all around him. “Tell me the dream,” he said at last to the spirit. “The dream is of a new daughter among us,” she replied. “She is surrounded in secrets, unseen by most; a mystical one in her own right.” Cian nodded and smiled and sighed into the wind. “Yes. I, too, have seen the vision. A secret child is coming.”

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Book:The Secret Child
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“To the residents of this small southern town, the past is more than history, it is ancestry. It is a compilation of family stories, told and retold, from one generation to the next. It’s old brown photographs framed in silver on the piano. It’s grandmother’s dishes and the family home and ancient trees planted ages ago that still shade the porch and scrape the knees of children who climb them. It’s stables that have never been without horses and hay and Jack Russell Terriers. It’s gardens that have their roots in the 1800s and their fresh-cut blossoms on this evening’s dinner table. It’s an unbroken thread of memories and families and love. And the distinction between past and present often becomes blurred, the past sometimes superimposed over the present in a decidedly unique way.”

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Book:The Rhythm of Selby
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“Many of the town’s residents summered up North, along with their horses. Others took long, slow weekends at the beach or on the lake or in the mountains, in family homes built by their great grandparents and passed through the generations like prized silver. The rest of us simply tempered our pace and entered into the peace that floated around us on the breeze of a slow-moving fan.”

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Book:The Rhythm of Selby
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