THE HARPY

My notebook is before me and I stare at the blank pages. I have been siting here now for what seems like hours trying to begin a story that I must tell. I must make sense of it, at least in my own mind. Perspiration drips from the corners of my temples. Tendrils of fading blond curls are damp across my forehead and I push them aside with the back of my hand. It will come as it always does, this vicious wind spirit, the Harpy. Beautiful they say, those that have never been the prey of this vicious creature. It is a fearful haunting that never ends.