Soft scent of mimosa floats through air

dotted with firefly lights

while the orchestra of crickets and

cicadas provide the background

accompaniment.

She walks the path worn through

years of footsteps that match

the shape and size of her shoes

but owned by her countless

incarnations.

Tonight she sheds the skins

and facades and treads the

course to herself, lost

in the sensuousness of the

moist summer night

that embraces her like a lover.

There, under the pink-filled branches,

she finds the secret place

where she once dreamed

childhood images of

fairy tales and romances

of happily-ever-afters.

Seated, surrounded by sounds

and scents that speak of

infinite possibilities,

she forms new prophecies

and revelations for her life.

She closes her eyes,

offering a prayer not only

to the God of stained glass

and velvet kneeling benches,

but to the goddess within

who decides her own destiny.

Life does not end, she sighs,

it transforms, and though the changes

may not be those she would choose,

she welcomes change over

stagnation, and there among the blossoms

she blooms once more.