Two weeks passed without a post on my blog. Two weeks of hiding. Two weeks of avoidance. The dark hole that swallowed me felt like falling down the long throat of some enormous whale. A bit frightening, yet comforting knowing no one could see me.
I've since found a rope, tied a knot creating a loop at one end and lassoed it around anything stationary in an attempt to climb back into the warm sunlight. All part of the writing journey. Darkness and light.
Grey skies and the tail end of Irene's distruction met me this morning, so I buried my face in a novel, Erin Hart's False Mermaid. The unforgiving winds finally died down, the water is receding back to the Delaware, and the Internet is back.
I leave you with a passage from the very beginning that triggered memories of my own:
She did remember a few things: hiding in the closet, face pressed into clothes of rough wool and soft fur, the thrill of being discovered, gathered up and rocked by someone with a low voice, humming a tune that traveled through her bones. She remembered letting her fingers slide through long, smooth hair that smelled faintly of soap, drifting to sleep on whispered stories about fantastic creatures, half animal, half human. The stories themselves had mostly slipped away, but sometimes an unfamiliar word or the ghost of a scent could conjure up that strange mixture of sadness and contentment she had felt lying in bed and listening, fighting to say awake.
Share a resonating quote or passage from something you've read recently.