I'm not sure where she got her magic.
But I'm pretty sure the forest gave it to her.
The endless hours she spend out there
Not because she had to, but simply for her own
enjoyment. She loved it there.
Big, natural, open and full of adventure.
She never knew if today was the day she got lost
and had to live with the wildlife to the end of
her days.
Or if she would find the courage to write down
some of the beautiful poetry
the trees kept whispering to her, like small
sweet nothings in the warm summer evenings.
Being there gave her some kind of peace of mind
To read, write, sing, scream or pray, any way she
chose to.
Her color was red. Not the ****** kind of red, but more like the last straw of red on the evening sky before the water
swallowed up the sun, red.
It burned like a fire within her, that kind of flame
that, if you're lucky, never grows old and dies.
A big open space and the promise of forever was all
she needed. A writer with potential, who was too
shy to admit it to herself.
And not just any writer. A writer with a story to tell, which in my opinion was always the best kind.
Young and admirable country with the open-minded soul that is given exclusively, to adolescent minds in process of success.