She walks through Earth's whiskers along a clumsy path as if she's wandering. Almost drifting, she browses the trees, swaying conveniently with the wind. The tall rough grasses bow out of her way, and she thanks them with her light step.
Everyday I see her there. She maintains her route as if her footsteps create the refrain to her favorite song. As she stops to watch the far off road, the wind carries the song to her lover. And after a few moments, the gentle smile on her face reveals he's sent one back. Though I often try, I cannot hear what it is she hears.
(from January 1, 2009)
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Pondering Life, Travel, Culture, Spirituality, Creativity and Language in an effort to use words to build up rather than to tear down.
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