Frolic the Moors

"...so he shall never know how I love him: and that, not because he's handsome, Nelly, but because he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same..."

~~Catherine in Wuthering Heights

When I was a teenager, I loved to read Harlequin romances. You know the kind of books with the woman bent over in some impossibly uncomfortable looking position whilst some Fabio looking creature poises to ravage her neck? We called them "bodice rippers." Ashamed to say, I could read three or four of these books in any given weekend.

My father was alarmed at this voracious appetite of mine for trashy novels, so he said one summer that I could not read any more until I had completed both Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights.

It was between the pages of Wuthering Heights that I first met the notion of soul mates. Of course, the seduction was less apparent than the romance writers to which I had become accustom, but far more powerful in the end because it pulled a response from both the mind and the body.

I guess I like to think that my soul will frolic across the moors long after I am gone.