A powerful solitude of night-dark woods and resins, impassive stones, frozen lichens, the electrical ozone crackle of Northern Lights, and the saliferous petrichor of dried tears.

Stars, stars, stoop down, Stars, turn from your courses, Spill into my hands! Stars, you are my kindred: I am strong with a new loneliness That no one understands.

~ Elsa Gidlow

Art: The North Star, Sydney Mortimer Laurence, c1920