When Cherie asked for tributes to Denise, I had to sit down and seriously ponder what I could write...not because I had nothing to say but rather because the words tumbled from my soul without any priorities...how does I place words on a woman that is carved from the very heart of an angel?
The darkest corners of my life were pressed against my back when I first met "Ellenodale" in a cyber creative writing forum called the Forest. I had been gathered there by one of the hosts and taken into the circle of trees where writers spin their tales. We struck up a conversation...or rather she had struck one up with me. It was as if the universe fell open to me. The person that I found behind those few letters on an illuminated screen soon proved to be a foundation of strength and a listening wall for my troubles. I can only hope that I reciprocated in kind.
For some reason when I think of "Ellen", I am reminded of a Major Arcana tarot card...The Hermit. Not because of the image of a recluse but rather someone on their journey carrying a lantern before her to light the way for those behind her. Over time, I have seen her wear many a mask...from the Bard that I met, the Woolfe of my heart, the sequined waltzing Badgerr that gave me laughter and the engaging ermine white Ferrito that shared a gaming world with me. She has captured my tears in her hands and held them up to dry in the glaring sun, shielding me from its heat. Denise has picked up a stone that was used to shatter my spirit and cracked it open, revealing the shards of amethyst that it held in its secrets. She to me is the revealer of truths, the Illuminata and the keeper of secrets.
I have heard her words scrolled out onto a screen and watched them play against the dreams of a writer...sculpting worlds from mere glass and light. I can tell you of the amazement that I hold tight in my throat on her brilliance and weaving, but I fear there are truly no words that can tumble from me that come close to the swelling choir that should herald her thoughts. We have spoken of each others' dried tears and wiped quite a few new ones. Den has helped me with the growth of my being and held me while I shed the chrysalis that held back my wings. I cannot even begin to imagine if she has reaped any rewards from our relationship...I can only see the end of my island and marvel at the prism of flowers that she has replanted from her garden onto my soil so I may weep at the rainbow that has fallen from the sky to brighten my world.
I would like to tell you that we have overcome diversity to become friends but I fear that is not true...or if it is, Den hasn't shared it with me. Although she does not worship the great mythical god of Chocolate that I do, she still understands the lust that it brings to my chest. She has named me Heartkin a while back and I gladly return the favour. We have mourned the passing of our innocence and delighted at the finding of it again in the crevices of mountains we have climbed together. Our musical needs have flowed along similar streams despite her being "oh-so-much" older than I am (:::ducks:::), suffered my incessant warbling of Roxanne, and she has gladly become an online gaming victim in the Wednesday night Twilight Company. She has brought to it verse and comedy...and sometimes an incredible streak of bad luck that just erupts on sheer amazement.
So Den my love, my woolfe...I adore you. Always have. Always will. May the quilt of stars that wraps you warm at night hold pockets of strawberries and caramels. You have given me the Sight after such a long period of blindness and have opened my mouth to the Spices of Life. May you forever drink from the Cup of Happiness warmed by the hands of those that love you. And watch the toes when you are dancing, babe.
:::Kisses the Denise and wraps arms around her, humming the Badgerr song...Don't stand so....don't stand so...don't stand so close to me....::::
Letter to the Author at CatZachrid@aol.com