SOC Writing _ 8.2.21

Four Corners

In here – in that little nook is the making of my next book – my daughter’s lair where her hair spills brown and beautiful above the Sylvanians and all other magic of her world. The world of the child – the four corners of her existence persist through to the dawn. And I only can marvel at the feat of her movement, energy and change from a pint sized squishy to this rocket of delight – the fire of joy in her eyes – the squeal in the waves – this – dada, more of this, be with me in this – and I do and I am so grateful for the opportunity to be her safe space – her re-energiser – her snuggle beast to be here and there and in her brown bear and all entourage of softness – my own softness and hardness showing through – I want her masculine and feminine to soar – to be wild, purchasing everything it desires – moving in exactly the way the stars designed – her little human space coming into its own grace - finding her own space to be her – then one day – out and off - far from the nest, or not so far – but off on her own – returning to check in and me to praise her – always praise her – and be bold in my questions – who are you becoming dear? The light has lit and do not frit away these power days – do as you will and I will be here – solid for you – solid for me. A tree may stand a thousand years because it is in a great company – may suffer through, nay thrive in times of great change because it has the understanding and its brothers and sisters to stand next to it – become the tree that stands a thousand years – longer – become that life force that never dies – knows that in its eyes there is always shamanic power to re-boot any system that has gone haywire, has lost itself in the ether world. I am again the sun – the star flung just to you at this moment – pulsing my waves as precious and purposeful strides into your dark eyes – wanting – wanting only to see you alive.