And as the pink sun rises up against the flat, gray sky she, too, rises up from the ash rubbing it from her eye. She's not a phoenix, swift of wing, for she can't even fly, but that does not mean she can't rise and give it a good try!
Welcome to my haven. This is where my heart lingers, where my soul comes to worship. Some days the muse will sing softly, but other days you will hear only the peace of the forest, the silence of the slow moving water and the quiet of the wind dancing through the leaves. You’re welcome to enter, but remember that this is a secret place, a private place. Your hopes, prayers, sorrows and joys may find an echo here. But if they choose to linger when you leave... well, this is the haven of a Dryad, after all.
A prayer, a poem, a wistful dream, the hope that will always live and the faith that will never die. The secret kept, the laughter shared, the friendship treasured and the love remembered.
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