Driving.
Miles and miles.
Footwork and footwork.
Hello and hello.
You stop where you can to hang a missing person’s poster.
You notice the berries are a brighter red.
You hear spiritually.
You know sacredness is not seen but felt.
She was found dead. Stabbed over and over again, slowly bleeding out her last breath-her last body movement of life depleted.
Your baby sister.
Your golden laughter on weekends.
Your refuge of fun and fearlessness-dead; murdered.
No one knows what metamorphosisizing.
Wings or visions.