(a dramatic interpretation of last night, inspired, as always by C$)
She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, craddling the bottle to her chest. The wind whipped around her, violent at this height, but it wasn't cold. It never was in Maine this time of year. She took one long final drink from the bottle and set it carefully down on the rocks beside her, never tearing her eyes from the moon and the water. The wool scottish tartan blanket had fallen uselessly down to her lap and she pulled it back around her shoulders. It wasn't a full moon, but it was close enough.
The night, like her mind, ebbed and flowed, raced and settled, soft and violent. As the wind died, she took a deep breath and pulled a piece of folded up music paper from inside her Hunter rain boots. She didn't need to read it again. She knew what it said.
She stuffed the note into the empty wine bottle and held it up to the sky, admiring the elegant courior.
The wind began to stir and as the tide receded past the rocks she flung the bottle over the cliff and sent it crashing to the shores below. with it went it all. and without it she sat back pleased.
"i sent you a letter," she said to him in her mind. "be sure to watch the shore"
