She walked with a train of midnight-hued
crows in her wake,
her ear to the wind and the silently growing things,
alert to any aberration in her world…
There is a sickness creeping over the land,
a blight threatening the delicate balance,
leaving yin and yang rocked to their cores
without breath to recover.
Long, silver touched hair flowed
darkly behind her,
catching on the brittle limbs of once green trees –
her own breath labouring as she brushed
at an errant tear,
determined to keep on going, no matter what,
despite the turbulence.