She races through the streets, clad in scarlet, gold, and black, her long auburn braid whipping around corners. Rounding the final pub, the alleyway suddenly opens onto the docks: a chaotic commotion of smashed rum bottles, drunken scoundrels, creaking planks, and screeching seagulls. The salty wind swirls about her, playfully slapping her on the cheek as she swaggers onto a small yet magnificent vessel: The Rapier, known for its speed and precision. The current captain is her uncle, a skilled navigator whose cutlass is as sharp as his wit. She scurries up the rigging, tipping her hat to each of the crew as they stomp their wooden legs, lift their eyepatches, wave their weapons, or flash their gold teeth in return. She reaches the crow’s nest as the furious pub owners burst onto the docks, yelling and swearing at the swiftly-retreating Rapier. In a few moments, the black sails billow with a cheeky wind. She brandishes her blade in the gloriously chilly air and whoops with delight as the ship picks up pace until they’re skimming over the savage sea. Off to another adventure!
Listen to the Meadow She swings open the little white gate, closing it gently behind her as she winds her way down the hill and into the lush valley. The lavender-grey clouds drift above as a gust of morning brushes a strand of hair out of her face. She blows a thank-you kiss to the heavens as she steps off the narrow path and into the dewy field of tiny wildflowers. She finds a cushioned seat of clover to listen. Legs crossed, hands in her lap, bare feet, her face lifted to the sky, she listens. To the melody of the lark, the sigh of the wind, the rustle of the trees, the call of the mountains, the rhythm of her breath, the shimmer of her soul. She listens, surrendering her fears and worries and mental clutter to the sweeping wind, and she lives for the moment, in the moment. The soft symphony of the scene slips an idea in through her ear and out through her mouth, and she sings wistfully as snow begins to fall over the valley. She wraps her knitted shawl tighter around her shoulders and mournfully ends the sweet ballad as the delicate blanket of winter muffles the meadow.