Whitney Freya’s Garden
We called to her.
We’ve been calling to her since she arrived.
Calling her name for days.
We’ve sent our message on the breeze, tangled with our scent of musky earth, spicy geranium, wild rose and sweet berries.
We whispered in her ear with our intoxicating scents.
We blew at the nape of her neck.
Come… return… rewild… wake up…
She didn’t listen, swatted us away like a pesky gnat.
We gathered forces, stirring our own potency.
The wild roses began to sway, the spicy geranium danced and twirled. The black berries fermented themselves into an intoxicating potion. The musky earth had an orgasm that shook the entire garden.
We all danced and swayed, drunk on the elixir of fermented berries.
We howled.
We sang her name.
And called to her over and over…
The woman stirred… confusion, then curiosity crossing her face.
Her nostrils fill with the intoxicating scent of the wild over-grown garden.
She turns towards the garden.
We feel her! We feel her moving towards us!
There!
There she is!
Closer… closer… wiping the sleep from her eye, shaking the fog from her head.
The moment is here!
We know we cannot let this moment pass. We gather all our strength…
and in complete harmony and total imperfection…
we begin to dance!
We dance the dance of the lost women.
We dance until the entire garden is a frenzy .
of wild passion…
of love…
of heart…
of remembering…
We dance what the woman has lost. We dance for what the woman yearns and aches for…
We dance!
Whispers become howls.
Howls become laughter.
Laughter falls all around the garden like petals caught on a summer breeze .
Throw Open the Gate, a Wild Over-Grown Garden Awaits Your Attention.
