Winter has closed it's doors to me. I have stopped my asking. The attic windows have been covered with boards and barriers to entry.
They buried a girl out back in the garden. Her ritual was a waking of the dead. She danced in new clothes, still with ash-colored skin. The children always knew what they were doing.
The usual suspects don't quick to anger any longer. Something has changed, and I'm just waking up to it.
Lovers have grown old news, and parents lie sleeping in a fertile bed. Strange as it seems, they were always open to me, thought it took me 'til now to notice.
The short black woman had a hand in turning the pages and climbing the stairs. If I only had more sophisticated language to speak of the nuance of her skin, her essence.
I am woman, too. And I do believe there is a wild power in that which I am only now waking up to.
Now is a time for bold choices and taking chances. The season is ripe, and life is asking for it. Songs to be written, and stories to breathe life into.
We must surrender to this art, and make wonders of ourselves. Why else have we come, but to dance the heart and know humanity? Who knows more than the pen, the brush? Only a fool would say.
I am a resourceful woman. No time for interrupting myself. A river runs around rocks in her power and fury, delivering ineffable strength and understanding.
No better time than dawn to visit and bask in her beauty and put your feet in her brisk waters.
I have elected myself Queen of some queendom, to which I am making love in her discovery. Praises to the man who awakens his genius and raises his hand to put it to action in service of many, including a woman's delight.
Praises to the woman who knows her beauty, and conjures worlds through her sensational magnetism and purity of desire.
Magic is afoot, and you are its instrument, dear one. Sorceress, indeed - wielder of life, and the miraculous.
They are longing for your every expression. They are longing for you. For in your presence, something is known, and transformed. Anoint yourself with golden hue, for riches are coming to surprise even the likes of you. Keep your hunger alive and turn up the volume. You invite resurrection of life and a youthful heart.
Rumi has gifted us with a proclamation of truth. "There are thousands of ways to kneel and kiss the ground."
What pleasure, pen to page, and hands to body! This morning, the birds sing the sunrise for me. This morning, I revel in the sun, who knows my name.