Women who love the wind have no fight with gravity
They rise and fall in scars and wildflowers
I have inherited the colourful scarves of my grandmother,
thick and sturdy — the scarves of my mother, delicate pastels
that softened the high cheeked beauty of her passions
And I have learned to love the wind.
I have managed to run the distance of disaster and desire,
of muffled laughter and of hearty
And yes, it is a difficult world, and a mystery of choices
Which is why I choose to fly
Why I kneel in the grass as the wind storms through
Then suddenly rise in a joy of twirling, whirling
into the burn of sun on my face, and the speed
of all that twists and leaps into the sky of awareness
I am a breeze and a feather
I am my mother and my grandmother, and I am a multitude
of bright eyes travelling through the temple of myself
Listen daughters to the irises unknotting
their fragrance from the ground
I laugh and reach for you in the wild winds of growing.
They rise and fall in scars and wildflowers
I have inherited the colourful scarves of my grandmother,
thick and sturdy — the scarves of my mother, delicate pastels
that softened the high cheeked beauty of her passions
And I have learned to love the wind.
I have managed to run the distance of disaster and desire,
of muffled laughter and of hearty
And yes, it is a difficult world, and a mystery of choices
Which is why I choose to fly
Why I kneel in the grass as the wind storms through
Then suddenly rise in a joy of twirling, whirling
into the burn of sun on my face, and the speed
of all that twists and leaps into the sky of awareness
I am a breeze and a feather
I am my mother and my grandmother, and I am a multitude
of bright eyes travelling through the temple of myself
Listen daughters to the irises unknotting
their fragrance from the ground
I laugh and reach for you in the wild winds of growing.
(Meet Mago Contributor) Phibby Venable.