Epiphany

She startled the afternoon when she strode purposefully into the quiet room.
Flaming red hair, harbinger of her lively essence, tucked casually under a black
wool tuque, low ponytail forgotten. The bright blaze down her back begged
indifference but the exceptional color could not escape notice.
Camouflage pants spilled into bright orange boots, oozing with youthful confidence.
She approached with laidback ease.
Her white teeth, one near the front slightly overlapping another,
satisfied her broad smile.
Loud boisterous laughter rolled from her lips, smacked with a mischievous air.
Her lighthearted presence filled the room.

And I saw what others could not.
Youth choosing life. While her cells waged a battle of their own deep inside,
one destroying another.

Storm Brewing

A storm is brewing
dark clouds swirl
eddies in the sky
roiling whirlpools
Thunder rumbles
ominous portent of danger

Morgan and Michael stand on a hilltop
Morgan’s long hair billows
her face a picture of steely determination
Michael stands tall beside her
resolve on his face unmistakable
his sword tip down to the ground
hand on hilt
battle ready
the blade flashes and gleams
reflecting lightening energy flashes

Their presence calms
those who have heard
the enemy horn
call to war