Love
The Lady is elegantly clad in crimson hearts and black wings, and her long hair has come down again. She is using the twisted point of one purple ringlet to follow along, and ultimately punctuate, the passage which she reads. But its end never comes, as the curl loops back and back and back, over and over and over again, as she reads the words in a circle, a spiral. The curl is flattened into a bookmark as she shuts it inside the book and reaches for another.
There are many others, many more books around her, in stacks and making shelves of themselves, some piled neatly, many more in passionate disarray over her spread skirts, their open faces gleaming up at the night sky, their tired spines like the backs of old beasts… look, you can see the rise and fall as that one breathes, sleeps. They are tangled up with pillows and dulled quillfeathers, emptied winebottles, hatboxes spilling forth erotic sienna smiles, long scarves of silk and thin straps of leather and in every corner, lace, like spiderwebs.
Kahlil Gibran and Buddha and Schopenhauer and Plato and Hallmark and Victor Anderson and Robert Heinlein and others silently state their opinions and carefully share their hearts to whomever might let their eyes alight on the words printed there, naked in the moonlight. They might fight or they might kiss, if they could climb up now out of their own words.
The Lady’s heart is light and joyous… listen, she is singing softly… singing, not that Love is easy, but that it is a beautiful struggle towards the perfect union with another soul. Singing of the profoundly simple joy of celebrating the beloved.
And that smile. Ah, that is satisfaction, her lips must be sweet with it, still. She turns her eyes to you, and they shine like stars —
May Love’s blade strike you true, my friends. May the pleasure of it rekindle your cooling fires, and the pain of it strengthen your resolve to thrive. May you always be wise and know it is not meant to be easy, or pretty, every day. May you never mistake drama for passion. May you and yours encourage the very best in each other.
May your Love be True.
in the Darkling Grove, listening with the trees 
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