bless her – she’s coming back to me.  slowly…  very, very slowly.  but i see her, a toe here, a swish of cloth there…  and she touches my hand now and again, brushes my cheek with her fingers.  today, she visited me at my desk at work.  briefly.

*whisper* don’t tell, but i wasn’t working at the time….

i was reading a story over at The Erotic Writer, by one of my favourite authors, the charming Mr William Crimson.  i had left a comment on one of his Daydreams and Distractions, saying that i hadn’t enjoyed the story – that it left me cold, and trying to explain why.  honestly?  it was a psychology/upbringing/experience/preference thing.

this morning, though, i was delighted to discover that Mr C. had rewritten the story, “Puppets”, for little ol’ me. *swoons with the honour*

needless to say, i liked it a whole hell of a lot better.  that’s not to say the previous version sucked – it really, really didn’t – but it had a powerful, negative effect on me.  frankly, i found it sinister and quite scary – and liked it less the more i read it.  but this version?  well – here’s what it did to me.  i got a little tickle from that shy, elusive creature that helps me write, now and again.  she gave me this:

puppets dancing

myriad maypole ribbons

patterning fluttering tugging

electricity from willing flesh

sparks fly in the bright air

arcing and earthing

through bodies

twisting to a pagan beat

heard the world over

with the first stirrings

of sunshine and bees


…can you tell that it’s a beautiful day outside…?