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Angelika Courtois

Musings of a Dame

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Scriven Treasures

The Architecture of Tenderness

Posted on May 28, 2026May 31, 2026 by Angelika Courtois

There is a grammar to it, the way a hand offered at a threshold says “I see you” without a word. The way a nod across a room can carry the weight of everything. The Butch is not hardness. Hy is structure, the steady frame a storm can lean against. There is softness inside the…

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The Air In My Hands

Posted on April 27, 2026 by Angelika Courtois

They call it a lead. The word is almost comical in its inadequacy. He does not lead; he prepares the floor beneath her feet.

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“sitting at an old desk, marked over time, worn, a felt pen in my right hand, a slight vanilla perfumed sheet of paper before me, soft lighting, classic music quietly in the background, a fireplace crackling, big floor to ceiling windows allowing me to look up occasionally as I try to form a sentence, capture a thought, watching the evening glide past my window”.

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons. Do I dare disturb the universe? I have gone at dusk through cobblestone streets. For decisions and revisions that a minute will reverse.

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