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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.

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