I met her as winter, I loved her in spring, I chose her through summer, brushing autumn loves from her cheeks. I saw her as white, dressed her in pink, felt her through red, and in the orange and yellows I never took my eyes off of her. A quiet, blooming, wild earth child, migrating into a state of mind.
Its dark there, in those places. No matter how many times shes there its like the first time Ive ever seen her. Its cold and its dark and its hard. Its quiet, haunting, almost violent in the silence. She randomly dies and comes back to life in the dead of the night when she is sure i am not looking. She is naked then; when there is no one to see that underneath the armor, she is quite sweet. During foggy days the sight of her is unbearable and the look in her eyes is unforgiving, as if she is asking god himself to answer for his unaccounted sins. Without body heat, blood is the only warmth she knows how to feel without the sun, never satisfied. When were out of the woods for moments at a time, she is sorry.
She is crying, softly, in my arms. She looks at flowers and calls them friends, she suggests going places and doing things. Every time she steps into sunlight i see a little piece of that armor chip away. She is no longer breaking her fist holding onto reality, but she is yet to let go of the idea that everything makes sense. She walks the way she talks, slowly, cautiously, and then all at once she is the earth, sturdy and sure of herself. She cries in the face of hope, sure that it will abandon her, and in the morning she gets up and holds its hand anyway.She holds it in for the fear the rain will make a home in her, and when it rains she heals through the pain.
She is manic, dream like. She is a star, the center of attention. She is loved by many and liked by few. I can see it in her eyes, that she loves the satisfaction at the same time as she desperately wants to regain control of this situation again. She thinks she is too loud, shes laughing for no reason, she is saying too many things. To everyone else she is confident, born to lead. But i see her stumbling and sweating and losing her grip, and i know its only a matter of time before she stumbles and falls from grace. She has lost control and her only hope is that someone is going to come and control the fire inside her.
She is a Phoenix after the fire. She is beautiful, calm, steady, unafraid. She is wise, standing straighter, going deeper, thinking clearer. She is comfortable, finally, open and vulnerable. She puts everything she is into things effortlessly. She throws her heart at loving the world and the world loves her back. She falls in love and stays in love, twirling and falling and getting back up. She falls, and lands, and in these moments, she is bold.
Loving her is building a fire in snow, hiding against the storm and keeping warm with the ideas of home. Finding little, quiet things to remind her there is life in the coldest most violent parts of the earth, and life is beauty. I stock the house with blankets and leave little notes for her to find, buy food that's easy to cook when the kitchens too cold to stay in. It is she who must accept my gifts, and once she does, she thaws. I cannot fix her, only remind her to help herself. Her soul is sapped at times, time freezes until seconds become hours and she cannot remember a time before or dream of a time after. I cry where she cannot see, and she does the same.
Loving her is like gardening. I pick out the weeds and water the flowers and sing to them softly, but i leave their roots be. I don't make sudden movements and i don't pressure it. Life comes when it wants to and not a second sooner. I keep the animals from the flowers and plant feeders to attract bees and birds, but most of the work is done by the recovering soil, I am but a bystander. Its slow honest work, frustrating, tiresome, but the soft butterfly kisses and sweet pollen air are enhanced with pain. Overnight it seems, life is abundant.
Loving her is like forgiving. Resentment can tear away at you, burn you, swell up like a star in the sky and then explode in front of your eyes, leaving whatever's left of you to drift in space as a Legendary Supernova. Forgiveness keeps that star from burning too bright, from doing too much, from getting too big. Resentment keeps us from remembering, from reconnecting, from ourselves, and when we finally let go of the wildfire we are allowed warmth, trust, laughter. Resentment is a forest fire and forgiveness is the flush of rain, and without it, she would go from a star to a blackhole, and she may never be seen again.
Loving her is like breathing. Sometimes we do it unconsciously. Sometimes we do it loudly and deeply and peacefully and other times it is sharp and not enough. But i never stop. I pay attention to the quality, not letting toxins pollute the air, keeping a safe distance from smoke. I go to better places, with cleaner crisper air, and find peace. I swim for moments at a time, and always come up gasping, ready for another round. She takes initiative, builds back what was burned, mourns her dead, and rests. She deserves it. She smiles as easy as breathing, no longer wickedly, scattered and dazed. She takes it in and she lets it go, never stopping, never faltering, never giving up. There is no need to help her, I let her help me. She takes what is scarred and paints over with deep rich colors, every step she takes there is no one left behind. Its just that the feeling on skin is better around her, Its just that it smells calmer, it's just the wind seems more like a caressing hand. Its just that in autumn she is better, and every year i wait for her there, learning to love her as we travel back.
Eventually i cannot climb to the mountain tops anymore, the snow is starting to fall, and i cannot go swimming because it is too cold. And it is time to say goodbye to sweet breaths and welcome fire without fear again, to keep her warm. There are times when I yearn for fall to come early this year before I snap back, when i can't handle the crying at 3 am on the kitchen floor, when the frustration and tiredness make me want to give up, when its too hot, when shes too spontaneous and reckless and willing. I am destined to lose to them, learn and live again and again.
The seasons of her come and go but she is always there, fighting storm and fire with me side by side, praying for better weather and a day to remember.
