The encompassing gloom and the length of it, however, is just about where any similarity ends, as she hasn't eaten a pomegranate, and there's no sign (yet, I keep telling her) of rescue by a Demeter figure (perhaps she's within, I've tried hinting). She complains the season's not strictly correct, either, quoting April is the cruelest month at me. She even gave up on finding a good link to this, so you'll have to search one out yourself if you don't know (hint: it's from T S Eliot). Alice also insists a blog is not the place for diagnosis or prognosis.
Still, I did manage to get her to find a nice image for you lot out there. Of course, she protested she doesn't feel anything like as darkly romantic as Rossetti's painting, and something by Tracey Emin would have been far more appropriate. Sigh.
Just be patient, please.
