Healing the Maiden

She is sitting in shorts and a t-shirt, long hair tied back, wisps escaping around her face. She wears sneakers.

Her face is thoughtful, her eyes questioning, she is as sharp as a tack. She doesn’t fear, her gaze is steady and strong; grass stains on her knees show that she has been outside playing with her brother all the morning.

When I speak she is wary at first. She weighs everything up, she is curious, careful, kind.

She reminds me that we are unique, shows me the confidence that I have forgotten, how it sits surely encircling me, heart and belly, an invisible cord of power snaking through me.

She shows me laughter, joy, playing like there is no tomorrow, forgetting time, clocks, obligations. There are no lists in her world, no schedules. She is immediate and present. She knows things, though she doesn’t know how they came. She has a wisdom which seems older than her years, something ageless there. She is certain of herself.

We walk together until it is time to part company. She gives me a red flower. Then she steps into my soul-self, as though through a doorway. I see her there, shadowed, and know she never left.

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