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.