The warm night air is moist from grazing the dark lavender lake.  Low hanging clouds glow against the black sky as they sail across it.  I feel like I could reach up and touch them.

I miss three things right now.  Sensual connection.  Conversation.  Communion.  Is this what it feels like to be lonely?

I prop up my legs on rough hewn stone and lean back in my chair.  The cold rock presses against my skin through gaps in my fishnet stockings, a sensation in pleasant contrast with the coziness of my long, black boots.

A big spider drops onto my knee from the tree above, perhaps thinking she found a web.  I think she is a fallen leaf at first, but even after discovering her identity, I still feel oddly calm and content as I brush her onto the rock.  I poke her gently with the tip of my pen, and she disappears into the dirt.

I splay my book, Spell of the Sensuous, on my lap and read under the lamplight.  The pages and I converse while the night air embraces me.  The lake and sky commune with my soul.

My pieces are returning, and my being is glowing with fullness like the clouds overhead, a feeling of wholeness.  Soon, a light rain will grace the dry earth.  This solitude, or soul-itude, feels pretty wonderful.