Wednesday, April 23, 2014

April is a very changeable month, and not just because of the weather it would seem, though we have had some incredible storms between the days that almost feel like mid-summer. 

The Easter weekend was very quiet, and I have to admit that I was a little surprised to spend it entirely on my own, save for my entourage. I had expected to receive an invitation from the Duke of Albany's family, because of course I have no other friends or family of my own in this foreign land, and after the wonderful time we had together last week, it was impossible to hide my disappointment. 

And though I may be rather blasé with propriety and convention, even I couldn't summon up the impertinence to invite myself over a second time. So the Easter holiday was spent alone, in much contemplation.

I cannot complain too much because I was visited by the Greek muse Calliope and wrote stories and poems and pieces of literature that I hadn't thought myself capable of writing. It was most satisfying to break boundaries within my own imagination, and I truly relished the opportunity to do nothing more than write. 

Nothing more? There is nothing more that I love to do other than write and make passionate love to the Duke. But if I have to wait three weeks for the latter, then I shall concentrate solely on the former. 

Also, I shall enjoy taking the high road and ignore the slight from the Duke's family, though that no doubt means I still have some way to go before they completely accept me as the Duke's other half. But if it means I didn't have to spend the weekend under the artist's judgemental stare, then so be it.



D. S.