Amidst the
sensual scent of the Kenyan soil
In the
sweltering vapor of the monsoon
She sits.
The
glint in the eye of this Maasai maiden,
A
tell tale of the
dazzling,
disappearing sunset
Reflecting in the
paw print of a passing panther.
She sits.
Her long fingers
in and
out,
in and
out,
in and
out
Weaving bracelets of jeweled beads,
She sits
Basking in the silhouette of the tall towering
Baobab tree,
Its branches fingering the
wisp of a whitened cloud
Like roots reaching far, craving
nourishment
She sits
She dreams.
This Maasai maiden,
she dreams.
In the
somnambulant heat of the African afternoon,
Under the
masculine body of the Baobab tree,
she lazes,
She dreams.
Her sense of
being,
belonging,
believing.
Her sense of
loving,
living.
Her sense of
compassion: Gifts from her
ascendants
All are
roots buried deep within the
sensual scent of the Kenyan soil.
Twisting,
twirling,
reproducing with the baobab
All are
roots
Maturing into one.
Maturing,
moving,
manipulating.