There are thoughts which are prayers. There are moments when, whatever the posture of the body, the soul is on its knees. Victor Hugo

Dearest Muse,

I’m encouraged by our phone conversation to continue these letters as long as we can although I won’t expect a response from you until after you return from your camping trip. I hope your week of freedom was a happy one. I can hear your voice in my ear and the connection through the miles. Dare I be the poet and offer up my sacrifice and a goblet made of gold? Do I act as the poet and rattle off nonsensical emotion because the emotion makes sense? Is it myths and dreams that are played at in our game of flirtation? Is it meaning, is it real, am I played by my own hand at a longing from a distant year? -L