I have this vision that I think of often, it evolves. There’s a serene woman, tall, blonde, who is walking through tall green grass. Her feet fall on warm, fresh, soft, earth. It’s morning, the sunlight is soft and glistening. The grass gently moves, there is the faintest but freshest of breezes. The dew is slowing rising. It will be a warm day. Among the tall blades there are sparse wildflowers, insects zagging and the odd petal that has broken loose. A butterfly finds its way in front of her, leads the way then dashes away. She walks toward something, not away. She wears a long, sheer, white, draped cover of sorts. Underneath, I’m not sure. If she lifted her arms they would look like beautifully flowing wings in the hot summer air. But she doesn’t lift her arms as they are each outstretched to something. Her hands hold other hands on either side. Smaller hands. Hands of children. On each side two, maybe three, small beings who walk with her. They smile, they laugh at the creatures, try to catch some of them. One of them hums or sings on and off. Some are hers, others not. Sometimes, behind them, right at her right heel walks a jet black jaguar. He is friend, not foe.
[image: differencecamp.com]