Golden Showers

Golden showers come raining down, sweet and warm. They cling to her skin, shimmering on her eyelashes and dancing in her hair. And she laughs, clear and beautiful. She dances, her feet light steps on the Earth’s face. The Earth smiles as she dances, and her dimples form barrows and glens, the wrinkles around her eyes crinkling into little rivers. She is in love with life, with living, with breathing, seeing, hearing. She cups the water, the golden showers in her palms and drinks, the trickles pouring from her hands as she does. She brings handfuls of Earth to her face and inhales, laughs, cries. The fresh air is clean, the good Earth is rich, her fruits are plenty and round, blushing juice and soft skin. She reaches for the child, the baby, hugs her to her breasts, raises her to the sky, stepping, spinning. The child’s soft mouth makes a lovely, happy smile and she coos. Flowers and green blooms crown her head, golden showers christen her, silver slumbers are her sleep. The skies are pearl, gray as a warm round womb burgeoning with life. All falls around she, her, and the Earth. The child coos, gurgles, sweet brightness in her eyes. She laughs. She sings. Pride is from her. Joy is her. Love is not and always is enough and more, for ever and always. It is an eternity of music, of absolute, highest ecstasy. An unending existence of golden showers.





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