He never met her. But once in a dream, I did. Grandmother. Yet in her twenties, Father's mother died in the summer of her life. " She walks in beauty like the night. " Lord Byron. She was walking barefoot down by the Sea when I saw her in my dream, wearing a long, white gown that billowed in the breeze. It was twilight. As she neared, the matching turban upon her head fell away. Suddenly, dark hair unraveled; spiralling downward to cascade all about her tiny frame. Once she approached, Grandmother gently cupped both my elbows in her hands, looked me in the eye and gave a Mona Lisa smile. Then softly, she spoke words to me from another world. I immediately was strengthened by these words and feel their fire and inspiration even 'til this day as I continue to 'spin' my Scarlettings.
Father bought an Old World style frame and placed this Photograph of his parents inside. He kept it in his and Mother's bedroom for years. It hung over his bed for the rest of his life. Then it fell to me. Just look at her. Is there any wonder then, that Grandmother become my Muse? To me, even now - she walks in beauty like the night. Lord Byron, you never met her. But once in a dream, I did.