and the storm which holds her to ground.
if the wind should ever stop, the calm could keep her still in the hollow space between wars and scuffles. there on the floor of her humble home, ground floor to dreams,
first step to self realization, above all means.
there, in the fields of parenting, where man and dog watch her step,
ready to circle and catch her tears before they dry.
it is the wind that keeps her upright against small shame and illusion, against expectation that mars the day.
it is the tornadic event which scars her mind and ravages her body in the years of holding walls and people together..
if the wind should ever slow to a gentle breeze, she would cry the lonely belly of a muddy creek all the way to the river.
she would be lost holding the topography of her past in the wet crinkles of a map on her tired lap.
she would breathe, she would mistrust the peace that hangs in the air about the woods, asking the trees for solace.
and when her camera had captured what the eye can't see, she would perceive the love that awaits in all those who care.
her health anew.
her faith intact.
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communing with women who find the common path, in all elements, with all temperaments.
nadine sellers 05-22-13.
