It's quite breezy,
and the sun is shining bright—
as bright as it could ever be.
Yellow and white flowers,
some pass as sunflowers and lilies.
A woman in the field
dressed in an all-white strapless dress
stands completely still—
absorbing nature,
quietly beginning to visualize
the things happening around her.
These things are real,
and have been for some time.
What she sees isn't a lie,
not mere dust dancing in the wind.
She has spoken,
again and again,
yet nothing ever seems to change.
Her visions speak—
loud and clear
for all eyes to see,
yet eyes go blind.
It's frustrating.
These visions
are not fleeting spirits
whispering only to one.
They are loud,
they are present,
and they matter.
Frustration builds.
Feelings begin to turn inward—
But whose?
Another woman
stands in the background,
seen as a child her entire adulthood.
She has drawn back,
stays quiet at times,
though still present—
active in subtle ways.
She’s cut back on speaking,
leaning on humor,
laying low in silence,
letting the scene unfold.
This woman,
who has long been mistaken for a child,
calls out—
to the woman in the field—
to share her vision.
And then,
a realization.
The woman in the field
is herself.
