If I was not this then who would I be?
Some days I want to find a lonely, silent field – the kind that is kissed on the edges by a mystery of trees – and sitting down, I would spread my aura as far as the roots of those trees, and let my soul breathe.
Here, I would let the sun cure every torn bit of my sacred energy, and let the birds sing me into a long and restful sleep. And when I was aired out and sufficiently restored, and angels had seen to the hurts I had born; away from all the chatter and noise of the world, I would gather up my energy, and fold up my wings – and see that I could never be anything but myself.
Barefooted I would pad back to my home.© r&m/m.c.