She walked like poetry.
An unspoken eloquence in her grace.
Oh how the light behaved, as it swept across her gentle face.
She was rich and free.
Not by standards of coins and bars, but in her heart.
She wanted for nothing, as nothing is forever.
Everything just for a while.
Maybe so. Maybe not. But in thinking or overthinking, I believe you are, in fact, or at least perhaps, doing what is essential to to being. And becoming. Because aren’t we all searching for home or the place from which we began? And doesn’t the love we have remind us of the love from which we came and may return? And can there be anything wrong with…