Maybe it’s all the rain we had today, or the fact that I saw a–double rainbow!!–but I am feeling like writing a poem, only I haven’t written a poem in years. A bulb is out in my favorite lamp that I got from a dear friend and the shadows it casts on the ceiling are perfect for writing a poem, probably what should an epic one, but I can’t seem to find the right words.
Galaxies, creation, the dance of the stars, the dance of romance. It’s all in there. Casablanca and great old movies are in there, as well as The Great Gatsby, Orson Welles, and drops of Jupiter. I am writing a non-poem, poem here. Darkness and light. Dripping candles. Greek columns of tragedy, and just the sense of a world apart from our present one. What stories lie in shadows on the wall! I could stare at it forever and never figure out the tale, because the tale is in my heart tucked away somewhere for safekeeping.
Last notecard for “The Stolen Necklace” tomorrow. I’m sad to see the story end. The desire was very strong to just end it with one word from Lord Dovecoat, and I could have, but I thought it best to end how it began, with Lady Tolliver. She is a bit silly, but really not a bad sort after all.