She walked to the water’s edge; steam gently floated across it’s surface holding heat in the air as it blew gently toward her direction, an altar placed under her feet, the fire of hand-spun wool dyed to match the sun’s fury heated her soul through her eyes as she prepared to sweat the past from her flesh and to leave new and invigorated by the molten pressure churning inside the earth’s waters. The turtles back and sponges locked in ocean’s salt and water breezes, …furs from the mountains smudged sage brush oils; scent to fight danger and warn off evil.
… steal not my gifts cruel world, hell has no place in me
…though it rains and sorrow shames my light and life will be
…as it were and nothing more always a mystery
Down to base layers and into black waters she bathes the past away. Cares melt like candles in the dry high desert air where she takes refuge to be naked and safe; recovery from miles behind and the uncertainty left uncharted in the wilderness ahead.
The grit of a world gone mad with insanity; time’s overlapping memory …she remembers her lives behind and lovers shattered by war and power, and power of poverty. Jewels to protect and jewels to remember through the lens of the sunset’s harmony.
Cloaked in spun fibers and knots of eternity swaying in the breeze and warm like the history trapped in her hair; a memory grown free.
She trades in her demons for white hooked perfection and walks on still dreaming. It’s good when you’re singing and the mystery is to keep believing.