My days lately have been swathed in rain. Even better, it's been a little cold, which is like a special beautiful blessing for me. I wrap myself in a shawl and drink tea and let the breezes coming through my open door tell me their dreams.
But I am strange, and society never fails to tell me so. I'm supposed to love the summer, the warmth, the beach. This seems to be one of the rules of the human heart these days.
These days there are a lot of rules about love. I know we're getting better on the LGBT front, but the list of ways it's acceptable to love someone, or something, seems to be getting longer and more complicated as we work out how to find balance in our society. As a writer, I find it difficult sometimes. I take my inspiration from the old stories, the mythic tales, which are so often about the coming together in marriage of two different types of power - the king (mind, body) and the maid (heart, soul). To modern sensibilities, it seems like an imbalance of power. We tend to see things politically, and no fault to us that we do, considering the long fight we have waged, and continue to wage, against patriarchy.
And now the sky outside is turning luminous, silvery, like the light above the ocean. Another storm is coming. I will run away into the wilds of my heart and love it, no matter what anyone else thinks.