As a young woman, she moved with an easy grace and light skipping footsteps, the bloom of youth fresh upon her lovely face, her ripe firm breasts and long limber legs. The bright warm sun quickly dried the occasional rain of tears down her tender cheeks. New life seemed to spring from each narrow footprint she left behind. Faces turned toward her as she passed, the fresh scent of fertility and life filling their nostrils, smiles brought to their lips and the hope of new Love birthed in the soil of their awakening hearts. Yes, Hope was her name.
As the days yawned, her youthful ways gave over to the rich vitality of a summer’s passion. Gone were her many tears and in their place the fire of experienced Love. Her blooms were full and succulent, bright and inviting. Calling out to passers-by to slow their step, perhaps stop and pluck her aromatic flower. Sinking deep within her heated devotion. Becoming a part of her, letting her become a part of them. She lived fully and with a hearty joy every single day, careful not to miss any good opportunity set before her. Yes, Passion was her name.
Time moved on and so did the vibrancy and heat in her eyes. She remained beautiful and powerful and seductive but her body gradually transformed, blossoming in the bright reds of desire and the oranges of joyful energy and the yellows of wisdom and the tans of earthy comfort. Some days the tears of her soul, memories of lost lovers and fading youth, cascaded and flowed in torrents surrounding her tempered feet. Still, her breath was as refreshing as an autumn morn to those who met her on her way. She was nearly irresistible to even the hardest of hearts as they recalled her vivacious youth and her flashing eyes. Love was planted in those dormant souls, which might not burst forth new life immediately, but instead was allowed to gently work its way into the fallow soil of those hearts. Yes, Patience was her name.
And then the days came when her bowing head was adorned with a glittering white crown of hair, proof of the enriched complete life in which she’d lived. Her feet shuffled as if in winter’s cold snowy grasp. Long days replaced by slow nights filled with whispered memories and the creaking of her rocking chair. Wrapped in a warm blanket to stave off the chill, she smiled faintly and recalled fondly the sunshine of her youth. Her hands trembled slightly like the dainty icicles that clung to the eave of her porch. The bright stars of memory shining down and reflected in her dimming eyes until one cold night they closed, just as the first rays of a warming spring sun shone through the window illuminating her graceful face. Yes, Peace was her name.
tara caribou | ©2019
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