There is a meadow that I know, that I have seen in all its seasons. A young woman is there, as fresh and young as the spring. She runs wild as the wind, her heart light and winged. Through the meadow and fields she runs as the green sprouts of life brush her bare ankles, tickling, teasing with their caress.

She knows the lambs, the calves, the bunnies and the fruits of vine and tree. She grows with them and tastes of their newness. She watches the sun rise and set. She feels the breezes that blow through her hair and settle leaving the memory of their touch.

The rains that fall around her are sometimes harsh and strong and vibrant. Sometimes they are the gentle pulse of a nurturing kiss. In these things she finds challenge.

She grows and learns and knows joy. She knows hope and inspiration and sometimes hurt and fear. For there are things she has yet to know. I know of this, for I know her. Her motions, her thoughts, her heart mirrors mine. I reach for her and she reaches for me. We touch and are one. I am she. I am the Goddess.