It’s spring in Houston, no finer time to live here. My siren of a garden inspired this; it just fell out of my pen, a great thrill for a writer…………………..
The lilies are blooming. Is Cleopatra turning over in her grave, raising her long swan’s neck, clapping her hands for kohl and incense, wondering if Mark Anthony still loves her, if Augustus is worth seducing? Does she flutter slim fingers at handmaidens made of night and funeral ashes and ask for her diadem, her robe, her ring of red coral? The lilies, whose necks are even more slender than hers, sigh her name. The wind moves green lilylithe arms in summons, whispers the old names, Osiris, Isis, Thoth, and the great mother Nile………………………..
When I was a child, Egypt called to me, and I filled my mind with facts and stories from here. One I remember is Mara, Daughter of the Nile. What called you in your childhood? Was it a faraway place? Was it the here and now? Did books help you go there?