The Girl in the Hood

There once was a girl in the woods

Who ran around wearing a hood

The color of passion, the color of rage,

The color of blood as it drips on a page.

Villagers sneer and children crow

At the girl without kin and no place to call home.

Cast out is she

To wander the trees

Away from the jeers

Away from the jokes.

That's not to say

She isn't okay

With wandering the woods 

With only her hood.

Time kept its march

Though some think it harsh.

It cares not for those 

Who speak only in prose

or anyone, for that matter,

or it'd be only tatters.

This mattered not to the girl in the hood.

No one controlled it, nor anyone should.

She believed in the truth

That things came

That things went.

She cared not for duty.

She cared not for lies.

There came a day

That the sun went away.

It seemed even he

needed some clarity

as those down below

Needed to reap what they'd sown.

It happened, as It often does,

That this day marked a change for the girl in the hood.

She didn't know-there was no way she could.

It started just as all Others had

Not yet good, but not yet bad.

She wandered the forest

The air still, at its fairest.

It was as she wandered that she found something strange.

As a curious girl, she came within range

Of a tall tall structure just covered in vines.

The vines appered to follow set lines

Carved in stone

And decorated in bone.

Intrigued, she walked through the arch

Out of the forest and into the dome

Of maybe a temple

Or perhaps a shrine.

Over the threshold and into unknown

Through vivacious life and shrubs overgrown

The girl in red enters freely,

and glances around only fleetly. 

Her attention is drawn

To a statue upon

A dais in the center of the room.

Elegant and grand

As it sits on its stand

A becon from all the gloom.

Terrifying yet calming

Frightening yet balming

A leader, Oh Great Mother Wolf.

The curious girl reaches out.

Though she's never been quite devout,

She was compelled to acnowledge the She-

Wolf unconditionally.

The Spirit, Divine

Had watched all the signs

That this girl was one of Their own.

Though unable to

Connect to her roots

They wanted to help her roam.

And thus when she reached,

They gave her release

From the world so hateful

So terribly unsatiable.

Thus was the birth

Of the Wind on the Earth.

The girl was no longer

Controlled by those stronger.

She was free to be free

To do as she pleased.

Though sad as she was

That the hood that she loved

Was left on the floor of the temple,

She kept her belief

That wallowing in grief

Would do nothing but make life more stressful.

Still to this day, though, 

She plays with airflows

And anything that moves

As her hood tended to.