A bumper sticker reads: Don’t believe everything you Think. Gradually we come to know who and what holds the cards in this game... First of all, she does. A woman’s intuition, belief and persistence is why humankind moves along the course it does. Society evolves from tribes, electricity from torches, community from hierarchy, and Love from proliferation. All the Arts combined, invention and marvels, pages through history attribute to her determined wish.

Quiet reminders appear every day. Her world does not hang in precarious balance. Everything tangible forms a collective, whether gravel in a pile, or brows above the eyes. With tolerance shown for insults from behind, pardon throws a rope to those mired in their own quicksand. Time and motion press the sails, that together we embark and attest all these:

She thrives on newness, the freshness arises ahead the sun each day. It’s certainly not about what’s settled for, neither any justice waiting year upon year, waiting for the ideal script. New brooms sweep clean, then also must she; dispenses with regrets and clutter long past. It’s about to-do's in the now of today, whether alone or together a couple. Invest in her and she shall double the return. No rocket science, but resounds within hope and romance. Afforded sanctuary regardless of social status.

The Sovereign Seal on the scroll reveals that You are loved prior to any one like myself having said; before disbelief had set in. So too with succinct melodies accompanying streams of consciousness. They combine to proclaim the instant new miracles come to be. It is true that your voice effervesces with music, so beautiful to say. And why not include that ancient orb of benevolence, that slow rolling silvery moon. Patrols the neighborhood this side of the stars, and not some distant nebulae. That vast overstretch, apex to horizon, ever yours gathered forth in a sampling.

Any man can spot the silhouette of a woman a mile and a half away. And because hers is cast from things lovely and bright, his gets thereby shaken. His will translate to items at hand, hers the adorn of Creation. Indomitable mystique inherent the feminine entity. Most of that he thinks he knows account less than a stitch and hem. It is the here and now of my own perplex, speak into the vacuum, weak at the knees, while she remains fixed on her tapestry, continues looping the fibers, continues while softly singing.

So now when you say there is much more to her than meets the eye, you can say it with a bit more conviction.