After three weeks of writing what appeared to be standalone responses, I was presented with the following directive: Read everything you have written thus far, following the journey in the order in which you wrote it. Circle words or phrases that stand out for you. Using those words you have circled write “the journey of my heart into the world.”
I offer up my first attempt:
She stands on a precipice of her own making and surveys the holy land below. Behind her pale hazel gaze is ancient knowing, a fiery heart that bursts with matrilineal wisdom. Her own elaborately rough and tumble life splayed before, battered and beautiful both. The years tossed about like erratics after the glaciers recede. This landscape is laden with miracles and memory, some bawdy and effusive like the raging sun above. Others derelict, creaky with grief and contrition. Most are subtle, like fingernails bare of polish and august hands buttery soft with gentility. It is a life anchored with deft and grace, prodigious with warmth.
Willowy frame exposed from this height, she is easily sighted. Oh, but her heart thrills in this nakedness. The pedestrian yellow-bellied fear has slithered away, melted out from underneath the tyranny of false constructs. She is plump with delight and laden with promise. It is the age, no doubt, life and death traveling together, a curious kind of freedom. This queen hungers and she knows movement is salvation. Cells afire, she gathers to full height and leaps.