Sonnet to Herself on World Outlander Day

My hands I notice wrinkled, without rings

Turn fast her pages avidly searching

For truth in characters, two steadfast hearts

That stand time’s harshest trials ev’n apart.

In faults do her creations ever thrive

Because their honesty brings them alive.

Adventure, danger, laughter knits their souls

And through this weaving virtues she extols.

Her pen a paintbrush wielded on the page

Transforms our doubts in life culled from our age

Transporting us to meld present to past

Belief that our lives, too, we can recast.

So to this marveled witchcraft I do bend

My knee and humbly dare to call her friend.