With uncovered hair and bare feet I am at my best. With my family beside me, home on the range at the Bar B Ranch. Being at the ranch feels healing. It takes my life scars and current mode of being and lets them run free through the trees, tail swishing behind me, dusting off a few years of living at a time.
It has been a year since I was able to ride a horse. I spent nine months of that year being pregnant.
My life holding womb that I’d nurtured, talked too, and trusted. My body now knows about work, change, and acceptance through this process. The acceptance only a mother’s womb will change and make room for. This is the shameless beauty of a woman.
Scars of sadness
Scars of wrinkles
Scars of living
Scars of a woman
Reminding me that these separate parts are my best things and have stories that are stories to pass on. I want to put my story next to theirs and yours next to mine. The pieces I am, broken collarbone, scarred knees and hands, are the parts of me to hold. So, love your scars. Put a hand on them and stroke them. You’ve got to love them, this flesh that weeps, laughs, and dances.
I will sing to the woman I know, the pieces that I am. Using the crisp outside air to fuel my voice to be in tune with the makings of a traveler.