I looked at her as she stood there. Her majesty, her destiny.
Like a poem she moved across the sky, standing still. As still as words in a child’s book.
I was jealous of her grip. She was strong and I was weak. Weak but not frail because I have knowledge.
Her knowledge, her story, her whisper sends chills through my soul. She doesn’t haunt me . . . she just is . . .
Do you recognize decay? Do you feel growing pains? Or do you exist to express your soul?
I found her in my sight. She was not a portrait, she was more. So, I traced her light with my lens.
I pondered as she wooed me into the very stillness of her thought. Though I was not fooled!
I am my own.
Am I doing what’s good for my soul?