She descends her mountain, descends, descends,
opens up the lavish walls of the river, crashing, crashing over rocks bedded deep in the earth.
She becomes the birds above, the fish beneath,
makes a promise to be present in all things, an oath to be present in all things. Her breathing becomes as steady as the 'Moor wind around her.
She relaxes her fingers,
and back, thin
feet, ball, arch
to tall and back, thin
She repeats, she repeats.
She goes within,
to her oak, aged and challenged,
reliable in all things,
a warrior of life,
she stands before it,
appreciating the brightness of the Full Moon
swallowing the darkness,
there at the base of the tree of produce is an egg,
a blood crimson egg,
oiled, tended, small,
her beacon of womanhood, the truth of her ovaries,
the embodiment of her enduring,
the entirety of her strength and vulnerability.
She forgives it's challenges, she forgives herself too.
The Full Moon is bright and clean,
bright and clean.
She is the bird above, the fish beneath
closes the resilient walls of her placid river,
gently lapping, lapping over rocks bedded deep in the earth.
Her promise echoes:
be present in all things.
Her breathing is as steady as this 'Moor wind around her
and she ascends her mountain.