She always collected flowers in the forest for her potions, in late afternoon~
Wild plants, with burning hues that glow in the dusty hollow, where the wingless live and have been silent for so long.
I see the wild things fly around her like moths attracted to flame.
I watched her from a hidden place on high as the wind played about her hair; gently shining like gold threaded gossamer~
She held flowers the way lovers embrace. She moved through the forest like an enchanting lullaby~
Moving into the light, as shadows danced behind her; I watched as her thoughts formed all that she could not speak…
I felt her watching me from a hidden place on high; my house had grown dark through the hours. The evening scents of sharp lilac and warm pipe ashes awake me from my dreams, as the last rays of sunlight melted a reflection upon my eyes.
I eagerly await her passing my cottage, returning to her Father.
Her silk gown flows slowly like a damp mist upon the forest floor; before disappearing into the dark trees.
I think ~ “We are receivers of this presence, we are like secrets finding, unfolding unto the light.
The manifested thought is our creation alone. Guide it; nurture it from a place of true wonderment. A place of true desire~