The little gypsy girl thinks that the sun is a blazing bird, and that the bird has moved inside her
body…
The sun-bird builds her nest in the wilderness that, like
the bird itself, lives inside the little gypsy girl's body—dreams, skills and
aptitudes gifted to her through generation of gypsy ancestors…
The bird stirs inside her body trapped in summer heat waves... Feathers aflame, a flap of feverish wings... the little gypsy girl quivers. Though
closer still blinds and gypsy veils she pull to keep her colorful gypsy tent cool, the bird
agitates, burning everything in a rumpus of wings...
Heat and humidity exhaust her.. evaporation is slowed, her body must work extra hard to maintain
normal temperature…
The little gypsy girl seeks the rains and bathes in morning dew trying to calm the burning bird inside her body, but the bird
empowers its will… precious peace dilutes in empty songs through ring embellished fingers. This is always, and forever, August in the
South. The little gypsy girl is not used to it.
She must fleet to the mountain without
delay… it is essential that she moved quickly.
And thus, she readies herself… spilling skirts, colorful scarves covering
her mane… her pink box overflowing with this and that…
Necessities she must carry at all times with her…
Some favorite books, her computer, a garment or two…
So down the gypsy paths she goes, seeking the cool breezes
of higher grounds…
She is taking the old gypsy wagon with her... a song, a poem, her beau...
Discovering new trails, through untraveled roads…
They finally found the perfect spot...
Take out the chairs...
Park the gypsy trailer under the trees...
Fishing poles and fuzzy worms… her beau is right at home!
She embellishes her boudoir...
With gypsy candles and tea lights.
She had traded the old velvet curtains for some lace…
White to ease the heat of summer…
But the little gypsy girl is still burning... the
sun-bird inside her laughs!
She must go to the waters...
Forget her gypsy skirts
Be free
Let her spirit soar…
She studies the skies above her head…
And she prays and wishes and hopes.
And for a strange little moment
gentle cool breezes blew across their camp
whispering winds swayed shaggy trees...
The bird... the phoenix inside the little gypsy girl
flew away...
Hope you all are doing well
Sending you some magic breezes your way...
I would love to spend time with you, near the water and in your magical romantic gypsy caravan. I like all the lace and bangles and sparkly things and think you are a gypsy poet.
ReplyDeleteWhat magic! Pure bliss...
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing the loveliness... ;)
Hugs and blessings, fellow Gypsy soul...
- Irina