Charlotte Bronte and the Birds
Dear Ms Nixie, I am writing to you, a ghost known by many but really known by few in truth. It was once said; “I am no bird, and no net ensnares me, I am a free human being with independent will.” That person was me. Ah, to be a woman and a writer too, was a terrible struggle indeed you know. So much was left unsaid and still it is so. It is one of the reasons I write to you dear maiden of the Millennium and on. They craft movies now based on my work. It is strange to watch from the rafters, in between the walls and floating through windows and doors like a mourning dream or a joyous revival of forgotten memories. I see the players fair, with strapping chaps in firmer fits than of the time (I’m not at all complaining of course). I Charlotte Bronte, am surely 100 thrice and more times a celebrity than during life within the confines of a mortal absoluteness. I wanted to tell you I knew philosophers. I wanted to tell you I knew musicians. I wanted to tell you I knew writers. I came