TENDING HER FLAME - Chapter 1. A Story returned from some time ago.

TENDING HER FLAME 

Chapter 1

"Mmmmmm," She said. She began to notice herself humming lately. Even audibly she would sing "mmmmm," to express, release, give voice to the buzz that occupied her inside.

 Walking along with her eyes down her sight was reversed and what she saw was herself from the inside out. She envisioned the motion of the blood that fueled the mechanics of the muscles, the breath that fed oxygen to the thoughts, and the light that struck the screen that gave her sight. It was funny for her, because mostly in life she had never much noticed herself. She was unremarkable she knew. So she just occupied her space and moved cooperatively though her days as the leaf with the river's flow. To school with her sister, hustled from bus bench to class room desk, navigating the busy city streets unobtrusively. She performed her capacity because it was asked. 

"Graceful," she sometimes thought, of the smooth course she rode. Rolling gently through her days with out a bump. 

"Vapid," others seemed to think. Her quiet contained insufficiency. "Not all there," they they would whisper in explanation. Puzzling particularly to her teachers who found the evidence of her intelligence only made her silence that much sadder. But she wasn't sad. Not all there, may be. If so, much of her must reside else where. 

When she began to take note of the buzzing, that somewhere else is where her thoughts would go. For the first time she began to delight in her self. Her form, her physical structure, her vey own blood and bone concoction that allowed her to be embodied. A wonderful vessel designed to transport and position her to face what she was meant to see.  Her eyes she carried playfully now as a parascope of her submarine. Scanning, seeking swallowing all they could see.  And this vessel not only carried but cared for who she was, and accompanied her self always like a dance partner, a magic carpet ride, a floating graceful guide. She played with the idea  and in all her comings and goings she seemed to dance. Long pointed toe strides, gliding along the ground, slipping snake like around the crowds. Still her ballet went mostly unnoticed. Through the thickest market and city crunch she never bumped into anyone. She never raised her eyes, and she never exchanged a smile. Instead she watched inside. The buzzing, a a fire light needed her tending. It became a treat to her senses. It was cinnamon and saxophone, summer sun beams, a cello concerto of her own. She reveled in it, but the most she ever mentioned of it was "mmmmm." And that she said a lot.