My Experiences

She laughs again, now. (Personal)

She laughs again, now. Without me.

That weightless music. That triple-hiccup, bubbling upward a perfect octave, popping in a squeak that shoots the crystal sky. But not straight up, like a rocket. At a jaunty angle. Her laugh takes off like a fairy that has someplace to be.

I did not hear it for some time. I missed it while she was there.

She had to be rooted, for herself.

While I was off scattering the seeds of my personality in the wind of my own direction, she was firmly planted and growing. She grew tall in authentic ground. Her own. I drifted. Knowing I could not see my destination, only float and waft and wander and fall to it.

Winds change, true only to a moment. Women are that kind of truth. A man sways, and stays rooted. He is shelter when the weather picks up. We all need both. We are both, masculine and feminine, as man and woman. We grow what we need in ourselves when we do not find it outside. We are the seed and the wind that carries it.

In youth, we are stormy. Our gales carry us to sour soil, a haphazard scattering of the seed of self. We often land in the sickly ground of generations past, in dirt already empty and depleted by our fathers. We are harsh winds, toppling whatever we grow, leaving mangy roots ripped from rocky ground. At some point, if we gust again before the kernel of us dies, we may find lush soil that nourishes us. And grow anew.

She has grown tall.

Her laugh is free, lifting on its own, its course drifting only according to the purest breeze. She has lush soil and deep roots. She is free to sway in her own winds and the winds of society, among her forest, knowing she will not topple.

I know this, too. Planted far away, I look back, just for a moment, and smile.

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