Who is she?

She is the first drop of rain in a silent summer storm.

The kind that makes you flinch and look up expecting hovering masses of darkness overhead only to find a clear blue sky. She is the start of torrential downpour.

She is the tree you never could climb, her arms shake you off with every attempt. She makes no moves to catch you as you fall and as you stare up at her, betrayed, she sways and laughs at what she has done.

She is the smoke from a fire that dances with the wind. As you move, she moves blowing her ash in your eyes, forcing you to inhale her with every breath.

She is the ink on your hands, the rust on your gate, the gum on your shoe, the blood in your veins.

She is everything interesting about you. You are what rain falls on, trees drop, smoke blows on. You are just you. She is the storm the wind and the earth. She is the story worth telling. So open the front cover and read.