Looking for a home.
She follows the rivers
and the trickling streams.
Her feet are bare, her skin sun-kissed.
Her hair flows free, like the rivers she follows.
Her voice is a waterfall,
Her voice is the sea and stars.
She sings of the desert and of the trees.
She sings to be free and not to be paid,
her songs are worth more than money can buy.
On a pine needle floor.
The wind is her partner,
smoother and gentler than any man.
The forest comes alive as birds gift her a song,
the ferns sway in time with her steps as she twirls.
And she is beautiful.
Her laughter is a babbling brook,
wildflowers delicately scent her skin.
The sun reddens her cheeks and brightens her eyes,
She is a reflection of her surroundings.
than what the mountains give her,
they offer her riches worth more than gold.
She’d rather have stars than chandeliers,
No ceiling on earth is better than sky.
Not of a house
or of suburban streets.
But of the sun rising and setting,
telling her when to wake, and when to sleep.
She follows the sun when she is not dreaming.
And she has much to learn.
The snowy peaks teach her humility,
while the aspens teach her grace and poise.
The moments of peace and clarity and awe teach her
that a life well lived is better than a life well paid for.
She has found a home
and it is not in a city or town.
It is where the wind blows and where the flowers bloom.
It is where the sun has led her and will lead her still.
She will follow the sun until it leads her no more.