she is beauty,
gentle curves, heaving peaks,
edges trailing in natural lace,
decorated in pearls and gems.

she is creation,
forming fresh valleys and hills,
changing them at whim.

she is destruction,
breaking down mountains in her path,
shattering rock in a single push.

when she purges,
man and animal both
scuttle and pick at the treasures she leaves.

when she steals,
its not need, but an act of power,
reminding you who is in control.

she will play as a child,
gentle and bubbling,
as the babe who clings to patents leg and rides atop the foot,
so she does.

she will fight as an adult,
pushing, tugging, slapping, choking,
invoking full force, establishing dominance and pulling back,
so she does.

she wraps you, cradles you, carries you,
as any good mother would.

she is poetry and legend and archetype,
as any good muse would be.

she reflects the breadth of the sky
and the blue of your eyes
and the rush of your blood
and the pounding of your heart
and the darkness of your depths
and the fluidity of your smile.