Fingers intertwine,
all hills and valleys,
weaving together to form
the most intricate of landscapes.
The valleys, they quiver,
and the hills, they shake—
unsure of their own design.
And she is there.
She is the horizon.
She is all there is to see—
that distant enigma
that never seems to grow closer.
She is, in herself, sufficient.
She is crude, yet refined;
rebellious, yet conforming.
Dark and light coexist in her.
She is a myriad of contradictions.
She is whoever she desires to be
at any given moment.

-w.b.h.