Tuesday 18 May 21 It's Seattle, so naturally, it's raining. Seeking a surface on which to splat and drip and register a persistent voice, the rain beats on the deck above mine, giving the illusion of pattering on a roof. The sound is soothing as it keeps me contemplative company. It's midnight. The witching hour, some say. A waxing crescent Moon in Leo sends its magick* into the darkened sky, and shyly glides into the living room where I'm nested comfortably. A fulsome sensation of The Lost Love wraps around me like a blanket of energy, electrifying, protecting. Renewing old memories. Spinning new fantasies. Bed beckons. My inner child -- still actively resisting my adult will to resist indulgences -- begs for one more hour listening to the dark, and talking to the rain. After midnight, in the dark, with the rain is when I get my best ideas. And when I can most clearly sense The Lost Love. I don't want to miss it. Not tonight. Not after the surprising though silent connection this afternoon. When two began their love early in life, got separated for 50 years, then reconnect in the silver years, you take every offering of reignited interest no matter the form in which it arrives: physical presence, flirty texts, delighted phone calls, clairsentient / clairaudient /clairvoyant reception. to be continued ..... *Magick is spelled with a k to indicate the meaning of profound spiritual energy, distinctly different from the prestidigitation of a stage act.