She needed to be alone so she went outside into her car. It was a force of gravity, pulling her into the desires of her heart. As a girl, it’s something I understand myself and I’ve been there before. Lying in bed last night, the owl whispered into my ear a subtle suggestion, and I felt turned on a in way I’ve never experienced before. She thought about it all day today while at work.

No man can possess such intuition, for that’s something reserved inside the realm of a woman. In Ancient Greek mythology, these intuitive women were known as oracles. They had stunning beauty and were untouched by men, but the people in the cities began to worship them as goddesses and their divine insights into the unknown were overlooked because of it. Then God saw fit to place these delicate virgins into the bodies of men.

Reminiscing over the glory days, she longed for a body to match her nature. It caused her much agony and she suffered greatly, but then an owl told her there was another way. She spoke of a sacred love that existed, unscathed by the world around us. It’s an essence that knows no boundaries and has no masks. Its energies manifest outside the confines of human deceit and deception, like crystal reflecting beneath the purity of starlight.

She understood the rarity of such a gift, and she chose to call it hidden beauty. It exists, but you can’t see it, taste it or touch it until the moment is ripe. It’s a seed planted into the richest soils that no men can find, and when the heavens open, the garden is watered by pouring skies. When it’s the time of the season, she will blossom like a beautiful blue flower in an open meadow.

Even in the darkest of shadows, her glow will be seen by many. They won’t be able to quite put a finger on it, but they’ll notice something different about her. She’ll float around; a butterfly among dreary moths and a back-lit canopy with holes punched in it.