Friday, 28 July 2017

More Dabbling with Darkness.

The black dog is sitting in my lap again. Circumstances depress me; life depresses me; depression depresses me.

I think the priestess is gone now. That’s the second beacon I’ve lost in the space of six weeks, and I only had three to begin with.

I apologise for spewing my glumness onto the pages of this space. It’s just that when I get depressed, the only thing I can write about is depression and its attendant preoccupations.

Still, I did find a line I like in a story I wrote once. It refers to an earlier beacon who took her leave of me some years ago:

The long black dress did nothing to hide the poetry which moved within it.

I like that one, and by an odd coincidence the story ends with the line:

Priestess closed the book.

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