A spell she knew well lingered as spring perfume in the aftermath of insight. It wafted in the glade of self, her secluded place, her after-dream, where her truth wasn't what it seemed. Walking in the stream's course was a truth she'd not lose on her way to embraced vulnerability and a heart's desire. Cold caressed her feet, the stream a dream where she embraced the longing so long restrained. ©April 2022 Christina Anne Hawthorne
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