1: Green and Black

That meadow was her refuge,
Her release.
She danced
Under the sky that did not judge her
By the tears in her dress
Or the bruises on her arms.
She cartwheeled,
Unbalanced,
Flopping in a heap
On the emerald carpet,
Accumulating twigs
In her tangled fire hair.
Nails
With crescents of dirt underneath.
Brow
With smidgeon of dirt on the left.
She knew how to climb the tree,
Small frame wrapped around the slim trunk,
Little fingers reaching
For the perfect fuzzy leaves.
Peel off those socks and tattered shoes
And dip her toes
In the liquid diamond brook,
Rub the white petals
Between finger and thumb,
Squeal at the flash
Of a small, fluffy mammal.
When she hurt,
When hurt searched her out,
She knew where to hide from it,
Wide storm eyes
Shut tightly,
Tears leaking.
When dragons came hunting,
She ran,
Cut feet, stubbed toes,
Take her away.
To the place.
Braids half undone,
Holes in her skirt
Stuffed with flowers.
A girl who loves beauty.
And that meadow,
That other dimension
Where she laughed
She sang,
Even though no one could hear her.
But they did.
That meadow,
The billowed clouds
The fringelike grass and the sunbaked earth
They loved her.
They accepted her.
Even on the day
That she was buried beneath them.

have some gifs.

I don't really know what is happening.

But it's late. And if you're going to start a blog, you might as well do it right.

. . .

Sensitive baker problems.