Love is for ever....

THE LETTER

The following letter was submitted to Love Letter Lane by Kevin (part of an ongoing dialogue entitled "The Muse Conversations." This is called , "The Letter."):

How can I translate upon this page love's virtue, how is it possible to give a voice to my heart that you have so fully inebriated with laurel, how when the wind whispers it is your song it warms and plants upon my lips.

My darling, the days minutes trace your outline, every centimeter of your silhouette framed like a masterpiece, the seconds like paint keenly brush stroked upon the canvas you have so gracefully decreed to my possession. If I am to be its caretaker then I accept the honour willingly. I feel the passion swell within me, engorging every facet of my being, my mind races in circles shaped like heartbeats, fluttering your sweet name. My love time stands still and holds your hand, it writes each letter of your name with the most beautiful calligraphy ever handcrafted. You are more perfect than a rose, every petal equally proportioned and imbued with divinity. I take steps back in awe of your cherry blossom cheeks, your iridescent eyes that make me forget the minute that just swept by, and yet even there you linger. My sweetheart our flesh is interwoven, together the tapestry sheds its silk in passionate lines, every letter belonging to this union that beams with sunshine. You are the blue sky swimming, the leaves of autumn that bleed crimson kisses, the winter white of every snow angel made with love.

You are love my dear, so please do not ask me to translate love's virtue, let me just nestle upon your brow like a butterfly and soak in your radiance, let me sleep under your bedroom eyes aquamarine and dream of nothing else.

The Woman in Grey

ADAPTED BY SHEILA DAILEY

The Woman in Grey

Introduction

As with most urban legends, the participation in this story is signaled in the following introductory phrase: "This story comes from Alabama. Whether it's true or not, well that's up to you to decide. But the folks from Alabama where this story takes place, they say it's so."

NARRATIVE, AUDIENCE RESPONSE OR TELLER'S ACTION

One hot day in summer a shopkeeper was working in his shop. Business had been slow and there were no people in the shop now. He decided to go behind the counter and work on his account books. With his head bent low over the books, he sensed that someone had walked in. He looked up. In the doorway stood a tall, thin woman, dressed in grey. "Grey as shadows," the shopkeeper thought to himself. She had a sad, tragic face. Her big, dark eyes were full of tears. She moved slowly to the counter. The shopkeeper stood up, looked at her kindly and said, "What can I do for you today, ma'am?"

Without speaking the woman pointed to a bottle of milk. The shopkeeper took it down and handed it to her. She took the milk, turned around, and went out, without paying or speaking.

The shopkeeper was so touched by her great, sad eyes that he didn't have the heart to go after her and demand payment.

The next day business was slow again. While dusting some of the shelves, the shopkeeper sensed that she had come in the store. He turned around. She was standing in the doorway with the same grey dress and the same great, sad eyes.

He went behind the counter and asked, "What can I do for you today, ma'am?"

Just as before, she pointed to a bottle of milk. He lifted it down and he handed it to her. She took it, turned around, and left the store.

That night he met with some friends to play cards. As he was dealing out the cards, he told his friends about the woman in grey. "She has a secret. I don't know what it is but I'd like to know."

The friends listened to the story and said amongst themselves, "What do you say we come to the shop tomorrow, pretend that we're shopping and if she comes in again, we'll follow her? We'll see what her secret is." It was agreed.

The next day, at about the same time, the shopkeeper was working and his friends were all stationed around as though they were shopping. Within a few minutes, the woman in grey was standing in the doorway. She moved up to the counter.

"What can I do for you today, ma'am?"

Just as before, she pointed to a bottle of milk. He handed it to her. She turned around and went out.

The storekeeper closed his shop. The friends gathered together at the doorway. They were going to hang back so she wouldn't know that she was being followed. They didn't need to worry about that. The woman was moving down the main street so fast, they could barely keep her in sight. Moving right out the end of town and down a country lane, she went on and on until she reached the cemetery. Then she wove in and out amongst the tombstones as though she knew exactly where she was going.

After a time she reached a rise in the hill, stood there a moment silhouetted against the sky, then disappeared. The friends came as fast as they could to the spot where she had disappeared. On that spot was a new grave. The grass hadn't even begun to grow over the fresh turned earth. On the tombstone it said that buried there, just four days ago, was a young mother and her infant child. Both had died of a fever.

The friends were standing around, trying to figure out what it was they had seen, when they heard a sound coming from in the grave. It was a long, mournful baby's wail. One of the men ran for a shovel and began to dig.

After a time they exposed the pine casket. The storekeeper reached down and opened it up.

Inside was the woman in grey. She was dead, many days dead. But her baby was alive. It had been in a coma when the mother died and was thought to be dead as well. They had buried that baby alive. The storekeeper picked up the baby and he saw something that made his blood run cold. There, in that grave, were three empty milk bottles.

After that, they covered the grave over and found a home for the baby. The folks down in that Alabama town never saw the woman in grey again. They say it's because now she knows her baby is safe.

"The Solitary Reaper"

Yon solitary Highland Lass!

Reaping and singing by herself;

Stop here, or gently pass!

Alone she cuts and binds the grain,

And sings a melancholy strain;

O listen! for the Vale profound

Is overflowing with the sound.

In the first stanza the speaker comes across a beautiful girl working alone in the fields of Scotland (the Highland). She is "Reaping and singing by herself." He tells the reader not to interrupt her, and then mentions that the valley is full of song.

for the rest contact Sheth Sir