Every word that slips from my tongue and lips is a poem in itself. My body, worthy of high praise, is an orchestra. Each move it makes blends with each sound uttered to compose a lifelong symphony. My heart is the cello, my blood the lilting flutes, and each slender finger a skilled conductor, placing emphasis on each syllable that passes my lips to create a prayer that takes a lifetime to complete.
My eyes are the light of the universe, duel lamps lighting my bold path. You ask me what the light is composed of? Moonbeams, of course. Softly radiant, there’s no sun here, for I’m here to light the night. Ah, but of which moon’s light do we speak? Is it the Harvest Moon (my hair full of the scent of drying hay) or am I drawing upon the light of summer’s sweet Strawberry Moon? Or perhaps it’s the light of the full moon illuminating the path of the hungry wolf, quietly slipping through the trees.
My glorious body stretches and turns, wrapping itself in silky sheets woven of rose petals, scented with sweetgrass and brightened with butterfly wings. I am cradled in Earth’s soft embrace and we slowly become one being. Warm rains caress my verdant skin and my tears are waterfalls.
I am lavender fields
I am wind rushing through a forest of quaking aspen and young birch trees
I am newborn fawn, scentless and patient
I am sleek wolf and wary deer
I am river stones which delight in the feel of water gliding by
God’s summer home is within my orchestral heart, and my heart resides on the outskirts of the Milky Way. Turn left past the northern-most star of Casseiopia and you’ll find me straight ahead, dancing among the stars.
I am every sweet sigh brought to existence by spring’s eternal love song
I am the new daffodil pushing its way up through soft soil
I am the sweet-tart taste of summer’s first peach
I am the tantalizing nectar luring in the honey bees
I am the quickening heartbeat in the pulse of summer’s lazy thunderstorm
I am the scent of tomato leaves and sweet pea flowers
I am the sharp crack of an ear of corn snapped off its stem
I am the first brave leaf to fall from my mother tree
I am the freshness found in autumn breeze
I am the first cold wind foretelling change
I am the frost in the morning telling birds to fly south
I am the quiet found in snow’s silent fall
I am the peace that exists in the rest winter brings
All this I claim as my own, because I am worthy. I am worthy to be from this earth, and of this earth. This is what I am.