I teach her how to speak moonlight. Allow her to hear stories born on currents of wind across the immensity of time. Show her small secret doors that transport her to places she could not even dream up.
To follow one’s bliss into the great abyss. There’s no thread that can guide you or tick tock that will find you. It asks only for your hand, lift your feet from the sands of anything familiar. Surrender.
She would rather not be told what she should or shouldn’t do. Her ears can’t translate the hate-speak of today. Her’s is a language of the wind in the trees, the babbling brooks, the rushing rivers, a crackling fire, and the calling of the Raven.