postcard from an absent muse II

Dear Benjamin,

When I left, I was unsure how long I would be gone. All I knew was that it was time. My wings, previously proud and lustrous, had grown dull with disuse. My mind, once running clear as a stream of crystal droplets, pure as angel tears, had silted with the detritus of the everyday.

The winds brought me here, Jukkasjärvi. The River Torne has iced over, yet I am swept up by the ceaseless passage beneath the surface, the long journey from Torneträsk into the Gulf of Bothnia. The cold is really helping. The bracing invigoration promises to dispel any last vestige of sluggishness. I'm remembering things. To breath. To want. To feel.

To live.


-M