She wakes in the morning. With a pioneering breath she inhales the days potential.
Strumming the keys of her body, coming in tune with her mindful, free spirit.
Gypsy traveler. Vivid storyteller. Daughter of the earth.
Refueling her verve, she bathes in the elements. Earth, Air, Wind, Fire.
Feet bare, she receives the ground. Sand and water. Rock and pasture. She walks lightly over them all – experiencing every grain, every rhythm, every point.
Present. Awake. Listening.
Performing. Portraying. Dancing.
Chasing not the wind, but a salty breeze. The air is good, but she knows it is the salt that brings a refreshing outlook. A view whose beauty cannot be ignored. The salt is essential.
Her simple belongings no longer represent poverty or lack, instead marking freedom, independence and abundance of wealth.
The gifts that she gives are words and affections, wrapped in eccentric, bohemian spirit.
Organic, her roots expose natural strength; branches bearing graceful banners of love; leaves giving birth to wild, passion fruit. Delicious and nourishing to all who receive.
Her bohemian fabrics weave together a swing – for the maidens and the breezes – uniting them with purpose as dreams ride in, on beauty’s zephyr.
I saw her today, this girl who once was, she mischievously winks to my spirit- titillation.
“I’ve missed you”, she says, “choose me again. I’m still just a floret – in the forest of your soul. The ferns are sweeping a beckoning sway, don’t you feel them?” she exclaims, “enchantment awaits!”
Curtains pulled back, she calls out my name.
The sound of my name rivets a quake. My ears hear her roar, skin radiant and trembling. From deep within I extend a reach, inhaling this effervescent, this essence, of me. As I breathe her in, citrine fire within my veins, her spice is delightful, nostalgic, even seductive.
Extracting her zeal sends chills up my spine, my posture responds in attention.
“She’s back!”, say my bones, as my heart jumps with joy. Eyes wide with a welcoming embrace, long lashes salute and my face lifts with wonder.
“I’m back.” I exhale, and never again, will I let her slip below, to the pits built by shame; the darkness, the depths, constructed with fear. May they remain empty and barren, soon to wither and dry up; relinquishing their space, receding in retreat.
For the girl I one was is coming back to me now; she will need the extra room to stretch out, move and grow. Her flourishing requires an ample arena, for jumping and leaping and bounding some more.
Yes the girl I once was, is now flitting about. Released and restored she lives among me again.
She knows who she is, where she’s been, where it is that she goes. She stands on the edges, unafraid and unmoved.
Feet planted, she dances, amidst the salt and the breeze.
I love her, this girl, who once never was.
This amazing grace, who was lost and now found.
As this girl I once was, has come back to me now.
“The girls we once were are coming back to us now…” represents the beauties who live at the intersection of art and faith. The Story Sessions is part of The Story Unfolding, where writers and artists build community amidst kinship. Maybe you have been looking for us? Welcome.