My friend Mae was visiting with me after a class I’d taught (and she assistant-taught) at the library on making ornaments. We’d just got inside and hadn’t even got unbundled when all of a sudden the vision came to me. Poor Mae must have thought I was mad, the sudden change of look on my face.

“I’m sorry” was the first thing he said to me. He said he was dreadfully ashamed of not being there with me now–as if he had some control over his being imprisoned–and begged me to forgive him. I “thought” back in reply that there’s nothing to forgive, he’s done nothing wrong. I am determined now, however, that he needs my help.

It sounds mad when I write it out, when I look at the words just after I write them. But he has to be found before Spring, because come Spring they’ll be sailing out to who knows where and he’ll be all the harder to find. So, I’m getting gear and provisions ready.

I’m out of my mind. Part of me says just find someone new. But no one is him. Even the one that I desire most, the one that eludes me, can not be as dear to my heart as my satyr. He would do this for me. Now I will, for him.