She wears brown clothes Her hair is long and grey Her room is filled with smoke and she is sitting right in front of the fire She has a pipe that she might be smoking She talks slowly and uses her fingers to express herself clearer She doesn't need to look at you to see you Her vision is clearer than a young mind's She whispers, with her eyes closed She draws your family in the smoke, cures you from your illness with her herbs She doesn't need your money, because she has no use of that She doesn't want to leave her cave because her mountains with the snow tops and her rivers give her health, vision and tranquility You have found out about her from your own blood running through your veins She speaks to you in your dreams You hear her voice when someone is sick She speaks through you You can't find her, but she always finds you She sings, but you cannot She smokes but you do not She is very old and wise and you are young and eager to learn She moves slowly
The river taught me to how swim. As a child we would go there in evenings on hot summer days and soap up our bodies to then rinse them off in the water. It used to scare me a little. I would insist on wearing shoes while swimming, yet I would always loose one of them and get frustrated. See, I never wanted to feel what is on the bottom of the river. I was worried about the small things, creepy, moving, spikey things. My love for the water was complicated and confusing. I absolutely loved it and always needed to be in it, swimming. I was also absolutely terrified about what I could possibly find in it, step on or drown. I always felt that there is something else out there that can take me. At anytime. That is why I would always bring the extra unnecessary things: Shoes, swimfeet, goggles, floaties, you name it. I never wanted to swim somewhere alone, yet if I had to, I did it. There is this moment when you are completely terrified and totally alone, you have the option of quitting or k