Soft scent of mimosa floats through air
dotted with firefly lights
while the orchestra of crickets and
cicadas provide background
accompaniment.
She walks the path worn through
years of footsteps that match
the shape and size of her shoes
but owned by her countless
incarnations.
Tonight she sheds the skins
and facades and treads the
course to herself, lost
in the sensuousness of the
moist summer night
that embraces like a lover.
There, under the pink-filled branches,
she finds the secret place
where she once dreamed
childhood images of
fairy tales and romances,
of happily-ever-afters.
Seated, surrounded by sounds
and scents that speak of
infinite possibilities,
she forms new prophecies
and revelations for her life.
She closes her eyes,
offering a prayer not only
to the God of stained glass
and velvet kneeling benches,
but to the goddess within
who decides her own destiny.
Life does not end, she sighs,
it transforms, and though the changes
may not be those she would choose,
she welcomes change over
stagnation, and there among the blossoms
she blooms once more.
