The sun drenches her skin in warm light, honey-gold and petal-soft. She pictures it sinking down, down, down through her middle and into the earth below. She turns to the turtles lounging on the rocks nearby, smiling. “Me, too,” she tells them.
The trees tower above, and she studies how they lean on each other just so. “What dear old friends they are,” she thinks.
She counts blades of grass and relaxes into reverie. Her thoughts always wander from this task, but she pays it no mind. Her sweet laughter, bright and joyful, echoes through the valley.
She spends the day in deep conversation with the wind, asking where it’s been and listening intently to its answer. She learns of the comings and goings in the rainforests and mountains and asks after the desert she once heard about on a television program.
She stretches her arms into the wind and asks it to lift her up, up, up. It curls around her fingers and sends her hair over her eyes. And she just reaches higher. “Send my love,” she tells it as it moves on.
When you find her there, she’ll invite you to sit beside her on the riverbank.
And you’ll remember then this piece of you that was so easy to forget but even easier to remember.
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