Here she lies within the sea, filled with images of the sun, moon and twinkling stars. Once she emerges from her watery depths she realizes there is much work to be done. Magic is strongest when one is young.
Pondering, while lying in the grass and climbing trees. The depth of expanding in the world of learning and dreaming. What will I be when I grow up? But for now, who wants to grow up?
She dances to the rhythmic drumming with the wind that whispers incantations in her ear. The calling of autumn, the smell of bonfires and the skies are painted with a somber glow. Mystic forces have taken hold.
Captured. The first frost of responsibility begins the subtle death of freedom. But it always lingers in the forest, the ocean, the desert and the heart.
First love and heartbreak, Is love really sublime? To love and lost, to cry and rejoice. She has no time for toads or malicious princes. Only noble hearts who love to laugh and ride pink elephants.
To give birth to a child, An idea of a distant dream? Pursuing the passion of one’s heart. No women’s spirit should be held to the typical role of society’s box.
As the skin ages so the soul flourishes. Becoming the crone, mixing elixirs or baking cookies. Is there any difference between the magic?