Sunshine Girl
Our reflection of nature's energy
Her body flowed, flowered, pressing ever forward, chasing the sun. It warmed her, gently kissing her skin, and she delighted in the moments this made her glow, as though freshly bathed in a pool of soft gold.
The real beauty the sun brought her though, was not birthed in the changes to her outer shell, but in the reflection glistening in the blue seas of her eyes and the abundant joy carried in her sweet smile, reflecting that energy the universe had just transferred to her.
I see now why her being craved this exchange so deeply.
She is me.
About the Creator
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More stories from Emma Laurion and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Village on the Hill
We had been traveling the countryside in Nepal for about a week, hosting vision and health clinics, when we came upon Kumari. The village sat far from the busy city of Kathmandu, with loving people and a slow, steady pace to life. Having danced on the rooftop with the locals for a couple of hours, as is customary in Nepal, I took a minute to just sit, apart from the crowd, and share the moment with my partner, Chris. Four dirty feet dangling off of a rooftop, the roar of a dancing mob growing behind- at that moment though, I found myself lost in the hypnotic music, staring out over the glowing valley.
By Emma Laurion3 years ago in Wander
A Chore Worth Doing
Begrudgingly, I tromped down the deck stairs. The clomping of my reluctant feet hit each one as I continued to descend. The sound echoed through the silent Saturday morning air. My resolve to do this began to erode until a cool, soothing wind caressed my cheeks. The serene stillness of this quiet morning wrapped me in an envelope of peacefulness. I sighed in relief. Ready to start my least favourite chore, but knew no one else would do it. I grunted in displeasure as I leaned down and coated my brush in paint, then pressed it to the fence. Finally done procrastinating, I began, and I allowed muscle memory to take over.
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Once More Unto The Breach
He let the sword slip through his other gauntleted hand. Athlistan stood atop the crest of the rubble of Bordanium’s ruptured curtain wall. Beyond, the remnants of the Saxon’s first assault regrouped. They would come again–Athlistan knew it.
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