For however long it lasts and speaks—changing, slowing, and growing. Whispering with scent. It encloses the small part of the reality owned and, in a way, transforms or transports on solid foundation, stilling or shaking depending on what it’s made of.
For a moment and maybe a moment more,
one contemplates standing in the storm
calling to a child in hiding.
For the sound that covers and overcomes. It is pleasant—for some. A voice that ranges like human emotion…or maybe that’s just us mimicking Her.
For the darkness that may shadow or consume.
A long-time traveler.
Shielding the body from sunshine, sky, and space.
An old cloak worn, always renewed by an unseen celestial.
It holds us.
For the way it lives and owns. Senses taken, touched, tasted. Grounding soles down—a reminder of power and needs and warnings—grace, gratefulness, gods; it is and will be, and whether it’s a kiss or fearfulness, it lives and owns through its beauty.