At the first delighted coo of her littlest love, she’s on the move.
Tangled hair and sleepy eyes begin their loving transformation into softly tousled locks and a fresh flame sparked in her artist soul. Socks slip onto tiny feet, as the curtain of gypsy print and linen blend dresses adorning the hangers in her closet wait patiently for her to drape herself in whichever one is closest to the colour of her mood.
Well loved boots are pulled on to embrace delicate feet, that are no stranger to the company of tall grass and grimy stable floors - though you would never know it by the way she wears those heels.
And with tender forehead kisses goodbye she’s out the door, a gust of sweet perfume and paisley, camera under one arm and undying passion coursing through her body with the gold in her veins, dusty boot on the pedal and country in her soul, cruising headfirst into the new day toward another beloved love story.
And through every moment of every sun soaked day she takes and makes her own, I am there.
I hold the pieces of her life in one small yet sacred shoulder slung space, always near, always in reach when she needs. I keep the precious and the necessary close to hands that never see a single second go to waste, for she knows there is magic to be made and love to be given.
I am there, tassels dancing to the rhythm of her every stride,
until golden hour finally surrenders to the reign of the nights moon, and she walks back through that door, kicking off dusty boots with yet another day of creating undying memories always on her heels.