Things happen as I sit alone.
The sky changes its color to anger and the wind has tired of delicate caresses.
Someone has put bad energy into the sky and spoiled the air,
and soon its aching tears will roll down.
And the red lady wanders within and without of my fingers,
tracing my lines with the rapid patter of her thousand footsteps.
Waving in and out, her touch highlights the grace of my moving hand.
I watch the red lady with one eye from above, as she watches me in pieces,
seeing the peaks and gullies of a new land.
I exhale my breath close to her spotted wings, warning her of the coming storm,
and she flies away into the big angry air so bold, so beautiful.
Written by Rebecca Lyn Crane of Newtown, CT
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