| Grace isn\'t always a woman.
Grace is the smooth texture of rainstorms.
Grace is the mad blood of thunder.
Grace is the pulsing vein of air and wind.
Grace is the carving of midnight shadows.
Grace is the thin bones of winter trees.
Grace is the musical rattle of memory.
Grace is the alive current between us.
Grace isn\'t always a woman.
Grace is the snowy down of geese\'s wings.
Grace is the stir of velvet and cream lace.
Grace is the curtain of green pine and cedar.
Grace is the copper enamel of sundown.
Grace is the brilliant ribbon of desire.
Grace isn\'t always a woman.
Grace is the first day of every season.
Grace is the endless reservoir of dream.
Grace is the anatomy of silence.
Grace is the language of mute spirits speaking through us.
Grace isn\'t always a woman.
Grace is the choreography of star lover\'s waltzing.
Grace is the echo of deep cliffs.
Grace is the dying embers of forests on fire
stealing the breath of stillborn rock.
Grace is the mutiny of reckless visions.
Grace is the motion of calm.
Grace is the ritual of prayer, the faces of nameless
saints and the throats of wounded animals.
Grace isn\'t always a woman.
Grace is the quiet habit of stone.
Grace is the loud voices of anxious water
flowing backward to the origin of all things.
Grace is the beginning of time.
Grace is the ending of time.
Grace is the timelessness.
Grace isn\'t always a woman.
Grace is the opening we enter with bare feet,
the door we close behind.
Grace is the delicate impulse we share with those
like ourselves whose loins and hearts dance when they touch us.
Grace is the fluorescent crimson of dawn.
Grace is the granite liquid of black sky.
Grace isn\'t always a woman.
Grace is the invisible thread of common objects.
Grace is the redemption of transient souls.
Grace is the release of imprisoned spirit, the resurrection of faith
that stores beautiful gestures in boxes of freedom.
Grace isn\'t always a woman.
Grace is the name we sometimes call ourselves.
Grace is the name we sometimes call others.
Sometimes Grace isn\'t always a woman,
other times she is.
~ Tiffany Midge, Standing Rock Sioux |
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