Image courtesy of Pixabay
A storm is brewing,
overhead, the rumble of thunder,
smoky-brown clouds.
A woman with long dark tresses
scent of sandalwood and wild apple,
barefoot, dances and twirls
with arms reaching out
kicking up dirt and havoc.
Her umber dress
flailing in the wind
like a tattered sail.
She is more than wildflower
and soft honey.
One more turn, one last glance
towards the village
mired in rot and decay
as she eyes the abyss,
a meandering path
ever cloaked in mystery.
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