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hidden things.

everyone has secrets hers are buried in fields where buttercups weep because the sun hasn’t graced their faces in far too long everyone has stories hers bloom along the lonely river, beside the winding road, on a path of stardust lined in daisies and dandelions...
mookaite.

mookaite.

my spirit pronounces power ‘i wander, i wonder, i wish’ i am a poet falling endlessly, following a tangled trail of time into the beauty of the ethnosphere – ashley jane (Inspired by the mookaite healing crystal)
i am under her spell.

i am under her spell.

i watched her waking from hibernation, neither ghost nor girl but hovering somewhere in between, a born wildflower drifting so i taught her to dance in rays of sunlight, to run beneath the rain and now, she is anointed with energy, illuminated from within she goes up...