She falls and pours

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.

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For a moment and maybe a moment more,

one contemplates standing in the storm

…just feeling…

calling to a child in hiding.

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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.

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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.

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It holds us.

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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.