A Garden of Virtues

  I have been reading this remarkable hand-made poetry book sent to Amanda by a very kind friend. I am captivated by the poetry selections and long to discover the kind of life these words embody. A life of freedom, and of love. I am just a little doll who sits in a rocking chair, but my heart is filled with dreams.

Like Heathcliff, he returns. In black, like a hero, or a villain. Boyish blonde locks fall from a radiant countenance. His eyes are clear blue, his skin pale as snow. From his broadened shoulders falls a black cloak of a fine weight. His person is not inconsequential, his gaze is unreadable. There is determination in his features, perhaps even vengeance. He strides through the garden. Perhaps never before was there such a large footprint on the summerhouse's snow-covered steps. Frost encircles the fine details of the black fence. A rose lies near his booted foot, impossibly pink and lovely in the airless chill, frozen as though under glass.

  This is the photo cube where I take most of my doll pictures. Henry is constantly trying to invade the place. Here, he crawled in seconds after I left and pulled down the backdrop, crumpled the mattings. Luckily I had Fanny safely out of there.

I won a Madame Alexander Wendy doll this weekend. I'm so excited. When I saw how beautiful she was in the auction photos I got obsessed. She will fit in Chantilly Lace so well I had to find a way, so I put some things up for sale. She is 14" tall with caramel-colored hair in the original style. I have never been interested in Madame Alexander dolls before, but now I'm fascinated.