There is a quiet thunder to the way she walks, and a heavy rainfall when she leaves. She treads water trying to reach islands that will house her but cannot reach the shore before her hurricane mind carries her away to new homes, homes she finds in people, and often the wrong people. But she is strong and stands like the tallest oak, letting gale force winds bend her branches so that she may feel what is to live, but never has she broken. Her voice is the sound of birds in the spring with all the melodies and lullabies of the early morning, she has a light in her that is both the sun and the fireflies and it will illuminate your heart should you ever let her in. Sometimes she is wilted but even beautiful roses have thorns and she draws blood if you try to pick her petals. She is the earth and the wind and the sky and though her roots are strong she is not always smiling, but just like a flower she grows from the ground up and all will gather to awe at her beauty when she sees it within herself.