Let’s say you caught a woman changing, right before your eyes

So, let’s say ‘a person’ were trying to reinvent herself – and she had to do it, like, right in front of people – out in the open. Had to change from one thing into another.
From bird to tree, say.
From too-bright sun to quiet moon.
 
Had to shift, perhaps from mystic gypsy teacher woman, to, um, let’s keep it simple:
poet.
gardener.
home cook.
Or vice versa.
 
And let’s say that you
wandering your way,
caught a glimpse of her
naked, molting, shedding layers by the side of a stream.
 
As if the stream were a line,
dividing the world in two.
And she was stepping from one bank to the other,
as if the ground beneath her feet were moving
or moving through her
or was too hot to let her rest
for very long on either side.
 
And let’s say that each side of the stream was a path,
a way…
 
and that one was the way of the wounded child,
the one we all know by now –
and which, we understand,
leads back home –
Returning Hero, Wounded Healer.
 
But each time she stepped on that side of the stream, she knew – that way is not for me.
not any more.
 
And there was the other path – which was ‘new’
A path of springy pine needles, dappled with sunlight.
A path of light and heat rising upward, outward
which made no sense
yet it seemed as if she’d walked there before.
 
A path which led to, oh, I don’t know – just thinking out loud here
Daughter of loam and lake, of earth and tree.
 
The outcome was less … clear.
 
And you saw her there,
wild-eyed, restless,
memory strewn behind her:
a half-eaten sweet in a crumpled candy wrapper,
a shell, spiraling inward, empty,
the husk of something no longer alive.
 
And you saw her there,
at the turning by the stream.
Barefoot, ready,
gripping her rucksack of courage.
 
And you watched her
from the trees
from your path,
and
knowing what you know about story and change.
What would you tell her?
 
#AskingForAFriend #ButYouKnewThat
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