Naked to the Gods: Meeting Poseidon Outside My Window

There’s an overtly masculine, hunky god outside my bedroom window. Here at my little writer’s studio in the Carmel Highlands, when I open the curtains in the morning, he is there gazing in at me. Most of the day he’s causally standing about, and when I draw the curtains at night, my little cottage aglow



A man sits in the window, bundled in a light grey jacket and a blue French scarf wrapped around his neck. By the light of the lone candle that flickers near him on the table, his unruly and uncombed hair shines silver, though his face is that of a middle-aged man. He writes with fountain