the blogger

Pattie would swing by the charming wooden love shack for a cup of herbal tea here and there and would be gifted a dove bird every time she visited. She would place the bird in her apron pocket every time she left, opening her hands when she reached our small back gate.

Watching from our kitchen window we would see our houseguest Patti fade into the distance and follow the dove flying into the sunlight, never knowing whether the dove would ever return, knowing she was the bird and the bird was she.

Perched on the roof would be the rectangular stained glass conservatory, filled with large tropical plants and antique bedouin cushions and the blogger would return there laying down resting her bare stomach across the silk carpet listening to Nick Drake's 'Riverman' play over and over again, she would begin writing in earnest once more.

My bowels are empty, excreting your soul 
what more can I give you? Baby I don't know 
what more can I give you to make this thing grow? 
Don't turn your back now; I'm talking to you