She looks up and howls with the full moon
And then looks down and prays with the New.
She waits till the ground turns yellow, and then some more,
And digs her heels in the waves at the shore.
She cries when watching the autumn leaves fall,
Looks up and marvels, still, at the hawks shrill call.
Like wild flowers, she grows when she decides to push
through fallow ground.
She does it with elegance, like a dance without a sound.
Her free spirit cannot be taimed.
Her fiery soul cannot be maimed.
She is
The wild woman,
She is YOU.
That part of your soul
That pauses ..and looks with longing at the wild gushing river
That sighs at the sight of an eagle flying high up in the sky
That knows instinctively what is right or not
That stalls tall and still in front of the fire ..and sees it mirrored inside.
The Wild Woman –
will always be wild.
~Rhea