Free

To fly as the gale decrees. Riding the wind currents, dipping into air pockets, twirling skirts that scatter rain drops. To spin, float and rush at bare branches, wheeee!  Free to flip up my skirt. No one to grab and force it down, to sigh in exasperation. No judgement. Free to get completely soaking wet, to break a rib or two. To spin any which way, free from the need to be useful. And finally, free from the hand that clutches at my handle. Holding me down, cower under me, avoiding the rain.

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