She

In the late Autumn She discards her robes. She clearly becomes tired. Slowly her modesty drops. That which She hid is revealed, drop by drop, encouraged by the rain, the wind, and the cold. No longer does the sun warm her. The clock of her days slows down minute by minute. Sleep overcomes her for months. Quiet and rest fill her. Her lovely bones are revealed, elbows, knees and shoulders of nuance. The strength and beauty of her inner self astounds me.

Come Spring, come the sun, come the warmth...she slowly wakes up and like the modest woman she is, she seemingly overnight clothes herself in all of her glory. Neither wind nor Spring rain will reveal the loveliness of her curves, her bones, nor her feminine strength. Shy through the Spring, private through the Summer, She remains the one who lights up my world from my kitchen window.

I love her beauty through all of the seasons and give her thanks.