This so[un]c highlights my plight. I’m grounded; no night flights of fancy; no light as air journeys.
Once again, my muse has wandered out of sight and hearing; she delights in spa vacations.
I miss her frightfully so; my head is quite empty; my soul is lonely. Meantime, she is luxuriating, sprightful in a place quite delightful; while I feel like I’m wandering, nightmarishly in Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights after midnight. Perhaps in my next life, I can be someone’s traveling muse; their wordwright . . .
A slightly non-totally soc wright for Saturday, July 4, 2021: words containing igh
feature image: take on my phone camera at the “creatures of light” exhibit at the natural history museum — has nothing to do with my post.
This image of a spa/resort in Patagonia, borrowed from the web does.
As I’ve longingly written before, I fell in love with the concept of Patagonia in grade school. Back then, it was rugged and wild. Now, it’s a place to go and be pampered. Sigh. Think I’d prefer the original Patagonia — I need to win the lottery and set the wayback machine.
I'm listening . . . . . .