The Listener
Here I sit on my lava throne - balanced and true. A pointed edge tweaks my right buttock as the shadow of my hand follows me across the page. Tendrils of freshly washed hair, curl and mix with dark and light. Turquoise blue caresses my body and my skin glows with the exuberance of fresh air and sunshine. My soul has been wrapped too long in the cocoon of winter gray. The element of air beckons to be acknowledged. Earth and stone cradle my body. The heat of sun warms my skin as hungry eyes feast on the gift of water. Lily pads and water bugs dance lightly across the surface reminding me of play and rest. Waterfalls feed the pond offering the gift of movement that wards off stagnation similar to that of air within a home closed up too long.
A statue mirrors my body from across the lawn. She, too, is an artist. Her form forever captured in bronze patina. Here we sit together - woman of flesh and bone - muse immobile and bronze. We both glisten in the golden light and tune our ears toward heaven. My name today is gratitude. She has been dubbed, "The Listener".
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