Looking up the Rio Grande through Brewster Park and beyond
At times she holds me like a mother, the mother I wish I had, the mother I wish to be.
Strong, mighty, unwavering, non judgmental and wise. Indeed she is a mountain. I am comforted in her vast command as she enwraps me in firm arms and soothes me with the soft touch of a breeze through my hair. She allows my silent tears to soak deep into her flesh as she pacifies my fears with the warm fingers of wind and sunshine.
Other times she is my lover, allowing me to lie beside her, naked, raw, exposed, sitting together exhausted, slick with sweat and lost in a dazzling reverie of passion, amazed at the untamed, intense and intimate beauty spinning all around us.
At times she is too big and vast and I lose myself in her wilds. We learn to let go.
And then she finds me a place to be, to sit, to ponder, and allows me to find myself again.
I am frightened by the changes that I bring upon myself. I could let go of my dreams, accept, and remain. Perhaps it would be easier.
But if I cease to dream, I believe I would cease to exist.
She need not hold my hand and help me up, only reminds me that I can. We are both too strong to condescend. I am no longer a lost child and she has nurtured the flower to blossom full and ripe. She allows me to stand up and sing on her hillsides. I can ask no more of her.