stormfrei
“The beginning is always today.”
Watiting in the Wings
Today is the first day in weeks that I have not woken with an upset stomach. Things are settling around me like the first snowfall. Light and lovely before the snow turns brown and wet from weathering.
Seafoam green nails and hibiscus purple toes put a wee rift in the conversation between him and me.
He is more traditional and prefers when I don't paint gold and orange glitter around my eyes. I feel like a butterfly with spots on my wingtips. I don't listen to him. Is that mean?
There's a small and furious child inside me who opens her mouth and screams when dictated to.
I love her.
She's protected me from the wicked wolves who appear with their baskets of treats.
I don't blame the wolves; they don't look in the mirror. They don't see how long their snout is or the color of their fangs. They growl out of fear, a hunger pang that runs so deep it will never be satiated!
My cape is white without a hood. I run to the sound of the sea rushing through my veins. I move with the fluidity of water. I dance with the lightness of the wind. I stamp each foot on the ground with the calmness of the redwoods standing proud in Northern California. My hair is gold and sings with the sunshine.
When it rains, I let the water fill my mouth to taste the wisdom of the clouds.
When it snows, I let each snowflake melt on my skin to absorb the secrets of the sky.
Photo source.
