The woman looking back at me in all five of my bathroom mirrors.
Spirit encased inside a crunchy human shell. One that requires food, watering, and sleep at some point. Eight hours minimum for full functionality. She needs fresh air, sunshine on her skin, and prefers the outdoors and being in nature (the softer variations). She loves to connect with others, but needs plenty of quiet places to recharge and decompress from all the abounding stimuli; some white space on life’s overcrowded gallery wall. She thinks and feels deeply and desires to connect with others. She has a keen sense of smell and enjoys things that are kind to the senses. Buttery throws, the orange glow of a salt lamp, PooPourri multi-packs from Costco. She lives in details; things invisible to most, a focus that can both elevate and cripple her depending on the lens she’s using. She’s silly and serious, light on her feet and deep in her thoughts.
I know her well, and at not at all.
What do you need? What do you want? What isn’t working? What is working?
Seasons come with no manual, no way to know for sure what movement or lack thereof will bring success or failure. Glorified guesses thrown to the wind.
Frozen in winter. Dreaming in spring. Sprinting in summer. Reflecting in fall.