Storm Daughter

I was a child of the desert

the brown tinge of the sand my toes

the pockets of deep dark green springing from the earth

slivering up from the water that would wash through the rocks

lines over lines mimicking time my skin

but my soul was bound in the rock.

The rock that was painted as if with a brush,

burnt sienna gracing the pockets of holes that would peak in and out of its hardened flesh.

The waves of white that would glaze the edges

making it look like molten hot lava that finally settled into flame.

I found my place there

or so I thought.

Now I am brightly colored wildflowers knitted into a gown

queen of the fairies with a crown made of leaves that bleed with intensity

shifting from neon green to ruby.

My legs are the water that shouldn’t break at the surface,

foam hitting the shore as people ride the waves of a glacier.

The stars above that twinkle in a sky I never thought could be so purple

peeking behind clouds and fog.

That unfamiliar zig zag of gray,

a veil over a city that isn’t sure what it is

are my eyes coyly looking away.

In the desert

there’s a beauty that isn’t obvious.

You have to really look to find what you are looking for

buried beneath winds that cover secrets.

Burnt purple-red fields will line a patch of dirt

once where the water ran deepest.

In the valley you turn to the left and you see rolling hills and a river

that sings to you of all it has seen

and will be.

There was a storm

another that graced the too blue skies of my new home

that forced me to no longer be what I was

only what I have always been and will continue to be.

The three sisters

the mother, the maiden, and the crone

dance on their spindle in my mind’s eye to tell me what they see.

A future unknown to all but them.

A future uncertain yet

terrifying,

thrilling,

tantalizing,

Do you lean in with me to hear their story?