Beyond this stand of trees, a rebel lurks in the
woods, wanting to come home.
She has watched from a distance at each infrequent
visit, waiting with impatient eagerness, wanting an invitation she could answer
with a full yes.
She’s coming close now. I play my flute, breathing my
heart song through the notes. I hope she hears “I see you, I feel you” through
the melody.
Listen, be wild if you are, there are no reins here. No
binding commitments or rules. No obligation to bow in deference, unless you
feel the unwavering spirit of devotion within your heart.
You can love here, you can be love, did you know? There
are no strings to play this magical violin, my lovely gypsy.
Like this grove, you can grow buds and let your leaves
run amok, letting them dance wildly in the wind, rustling and spinning in the
wind. You can land in great piles and receive the bunny hiding in your
weightless mound. Grow fragrant blooms or make shade for someone. Or take a
rest and let all your leaves die, fall and wither to dust.
You are free, roam your wild soul and inner landscapes, I will welcome you home after each journey.
You are free, roam your wild soul and inner landscapes, I will welcome you home after each journey.
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